


Deserted

by dracomalfoy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Airplane Crashes, Alternate Universe - Human, Desert Island Fic, Gore, Long, Multi, Plot Centric, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-29
Updated: 2013-10-31
Packaged: 2017-12-27 23:53:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/985136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracomalfoy/pseuds/dracomalfoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A plane taking off from the LA airport destined for Hawaii crashes on a deserted island in the middle of the ocean. Only twelve people survived. Can this group of castaways learn to live together or will they fall apart at the seams? And how will they ever be rescued if the island never wants them to leave?</p><p>This story is inspired by LOST.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wayward Son

**Author's Note:**

> Slow Build means that all relationships and events will take a lot of build up and development before anything extreme happens. The major Character Death will not come until the last few chapters of the story. I may add tags as the story progresses to accompany any major plot points or characters I might include. Hint: The twelve survivors are not alone.

    Dean opens his eyes. Nearby, he can hear the shrill scream of a woman. His nostrils burn raw as he takes a breath, the scent of dirt, smoke and seaweed sucking into his pores. He leans forward with a groan and pulls himself up, somehow sitting in a patch of matted down bamboo and fern leaves, tall trees encompassing him like a tent, only letting tiny rays of sunlight poke through the billowing branches.

    A swell of throbbing, steady pain gradually becomes apparent above his left temple. He's not sure how it got there, nor is he sure how he got to where he is now.

    The screaming continues from beyond the tall palm trees and Dean manages to lift himself to his feet, staggering to maintain his balance as the blood rushes from his face and dizziness hits him at full force. Grasping hold of a tree trunk next to him, he takes in another breath. Between the hard pit in his stomach trying to force its way up his throat and the bloody, swollen bump on his head, Dean can barely stand on two feet. He looks down at his shoes: dirty and with twigs poking into the laces. He takes a step, eyes still focused on his feet to make sure they still work, and after the first few paces, he looks up in the direction of the screaming.

    Emerging from the nest of trees and bushes, Dean covers his eyes immediately as the brightness blinds him. Slowly, the blurriness subsides and his eyesight adjusts, but just as he drops his shielding hand from his forehead, he's hit with the sudden chaos of the situation.

    Embedded into the sand of the ocean's shore, a giant airplane wing sticks straight up towards the sky, waves lapping at its base where it had been previously connected to the body of the aircraft. Several feet away is one half of the plane's cabin, the seats hanging out of its torn center like the guts of a dead animal. Heat is radiating from a fuselage close by and that's where Dean sees the source of the god awful, piercing scream that had awoken him from unconsciousness.

    A thin woman with curly blonde hair stands with her shoes in the dirty sand. She's hugging herself tightly, shaking with tears soaking her cheeks. By now her voice is scratchy and abraded but she won't stop screaming.

    Sitting amongst the burning wreckage are people huddled into themselves, some rocking back and forth. A scraggly young man with a torn black hoodie and brown hair that hangs over his eyes, damp against his forehead with sweat, is talking to himself, repeating the same words over and over. Dean can barely make it out, but it sounds something like, “Am I dead...? Am I dead...? Am I dead...?”

    Some other survivors run away from the flames erupting from the sides of the fuselage at random. A black man in a blue uniform trips over a mutilated body lying facedown in the sand. He cries out but an older, bearded man comes to his side and pulls him away from the remains.

    Dean blinks. The heat and smoke coming in waves, mixing with the evaporated salt water lapping up from the ocean stings his already dry eyes.

    A small explosion sends scraps of metal and debris flying through the air from the fuselage. The blonde girl stops screaming as she's forced to her knees by the impact. Dean ducks, his hands rushing to his head to stop the sharp popping in his eardrums. Survivors run faster away from the plane and head onto the grassland on the skirt of the shore.

    Down by his feet, covered in sand, Dean sees a brown leather briefcase. With all the commotion, chaos and noise surrounding him, he somehow locks his focus on this bag, of all things. Using the toe of his shoe to move some dirt away from the cover, he sees the letters “S.W.” engraved into the leather right below the clasp. His eyes widen, palms begin to sweat and Dean realizes who the briefcase belongs to. Looking out at the survivors and then to the wreckage, he clasps his hands around his mouth and yells with all his strength, “Sammy!”

    The memory comes back to him.

  
**5 Hours Earlier**

**The LAX airport lobby is loud, packed to the walls with people of from walks of life. They carry heavy luggage, push baby strollers and bustle by everyone else without paying each other notice. Dean Winchester sits off to one side on a metal bench, his head in his hands. He's withdrawn from those around him; withdrawn because he doesn't care about getting out as fast as he can. He's in no rush, although he should be. Dean sits with his head in his hands, humming classic Zeppelin to himself, waiting.**

**He begins to tap his feet in time with the tune in his head. A young child nearby starts to cry, but Dean doesn't hear anything but the song. He sits there watching his feet as if there's an imaginary drum kit he's playing, when suddenly another pair of feet come into view. Looking up from the shiny black loafers now in his peripheral vision, Dean can't help but to grin as he takes in the sight of his baby brother, all grown up.**

**Practically lunging off the bench, Dean wraps his arms around Sam, squeezing him tightly as if the tall, bulky man might blow away in the wind.**

**“Jesus, Sam, it's good to see you!”**

**Coughing a little as he struggles to free himself from his brother's grasp, Sam manages to mumble out a response of, “You too, Dean.”**

**Getting the picture, Dean lets go, still grinning like a fool. He takes a step back to look his brother over completely.**

**“Man, have you grown. Sprouted up like a friggin' tree!”**

**Sam glances down at the scuffed up tile floor, his lips pursed together. “Well, I'm not a kid anymore, you know.”**

**Dean shakes his head, “Yeah, yeah. You're still my little brother though. What has it been, like a year?”**

**“Five.”**

**Laughing nervously under his breath, Dean looks away.**

**The brothers are silent for a moment and the chaos of the LAX crowd fills the void of what would be their voices.**

**Dean shifts a bit and clears his throat, “You, uh, wanna get a drink?”**

**Sam faces him, deadpanned.**

**“What?”  
**

**“You're not serious.”**

**“Yeah, I am, c'mon. Let's get a couple drinks, get to know each other again, and then we can get to business.”**

**“Business?” Sam wrinkles his brow, staring at his brother incredulously. “Dad's dead, Dean.”**

**Swallowing a dry lump in his throat, Dean exhales slowly. He tucks his hands into the pockets of his jeans and stands very still.**

**“I was just hoping we could – ”**

**“Hoping we could what? You thought we'd meet up after five years of no contact and have a few beers? You thought everything would be cool between you and I?”**

**Dean opens his mouth to speak, but words don't come out.**

**“Dad's dead, and as far as I'm concerned, after we get his body and bring it back to the states, I'm gonna go right back to where I was before you called.”**

**For a long, uncomfortable minute, Sam and Dean don't say anything. They glare and breathe rapidly through their noses, jaws clenched. This is exactly the thing Dean was hoping they could avoid. This is why the two brothers hadn't spoken in almost five years. Every time Dean tried to make it right, Sam wanted nothing to do with their family. It had been that way for a long time, not just since Sam moved off to college and started a life of his own.**

**When they were boys, Dean was left with more responsibilities than a kid should be left with. And that's putting it lightly. Having to take care of a little brother at the age of five, being left alone in trashy motel rooms, fending for food, entertainment, a safe place to sleep; it was a burden. But somehow Dean took it without question. He had faith in his father's work and knew that one day John would make it up to him. That day never seemed to come, but still kept his faith.**

**In Dean's mind, Sam never understood the severity of everything he had to do for their family. Sam was ungrateful sometimes and Dean didn't know why.**

**Clearing his throat and averting his eyes to finally look away from his brother, Dean knows he has to be the one to break the silence. After all, in Sam's eyes, Dean's the one at fault.**

**“Why do you hate me, Sam?”**

**Shaking his head, Sam folds his arms at his chest. In his left hand, he's holding a brown leather briefcase.**

**“We need to get our baggage checked.”**

**Dean lets out an exhale. He should have known Sam would avoid the question. Extending his arms out on either side, Dean makes a face, “Does it look like I've got anything?”**

**Sam rolls his eyes and opens the metal clasp of the briefcase. He sticks his hand in one of the dividers inside and pulls out a plane ticket: a shiny blue envelope with palm trees on the cover.**

**“You do have one of these though, right?” he holds the ticket poignantly.**

**Dean pulls an identical envelope from his brown, leather jacket pocket and waves it back and forth, holding it between his fingers like it's a cigarette.**

**Glancing down at the bold number printed on the top right side of the ticket, Sam nods. He looks up at the terminal signs overhead and gestures in the direction of the terminals, “Gate C.”**

**Dean stuffs the ticket back into his pocket and starts to walk with confidence, leaving Sam behind him. Getting the message, the taller brother quickly catches up. They walk side by side on the way to a long line of people waiting to check their bags and board the plane.**

**“Why do you think dad was in Hawaii anyway?” Sam glances over at his brother.**

**“Beats me.”**

 

    Tripping on the loose sand beneath his feet, Dean scrambles to get to the people sitting in the grass away from the wreckage. The burning fuselage in the background combined with the screams and cries of everyone around him create a vacuum of sound, filling Dean's ears with hope that somewhere in all that clamor, his little brother is alive.

    “Sammy!” he calls out again, kicking some pieces of sharp metal out of his path.

    Leaned up against an airplane seat that's been tipped on it's side, a man wearing a white button up and black dress pants is doubled over, coughing. Dean approaches him, tapping on his shoulder.

    “Sam?”

    The man picks his head up. He has dark hair and a blue tie around his neck that seems to have been misshaped during the crash. “N-no, sorry,” he responds, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

    “Have you seen a guy named Sam? He's uh...tall, brown hair about yeh high – ” Dean gestures to his neck. “He's really tall and his name's Sam.”

    The other man shakes his head sympathetically.

    “He's my kid brother. I gotta find him.”

    “A child?”

    Dean frowns, “No, he's twenty-three.” This isn't getting him anywhere. “If you see Sam, tell him Dean's alive and looking for him, 'kay?”

    The dark haired man stares blankly at Dean and blinks before nodding a little in acknowledgment.

    Sitting on the ground with her arms wrapped around herself, a middle aged woman with light brown, messy hair is whispering something. Dean kneels down to her level, but she doesn't pay him any attention.

    “Hey, lady, have you seen my brother?”

    She continues to rock back and forth, her eyes focused on the destroyed plane sticking out of the ocean's shore.

    “Nevermind...” he says under his breath.

    Moving further away from the wreckage, Dean looks out among the other survivors on the shore. Some of them have obvious wounds, but surprisingly, most seem to have made it out without more than a scratch. Still no Sam though.

   

   **Letting out a long exhale, Dean leans back into his seat. His hands are on the edge of the arm rests, gripping the material tightly. Keeping his eyes fixed on the back of the seat in front of him, he takes another deep breath.**

**“Dude, you okay?” Sam is sitting beside him, arms folded comfortably in his lap.**

**“Yeah, I'm fine,” Dean replies quickly, a bite to his voice.**

**Raising his eyebrows, Sam smirks a little, “Sure you are.”**

**“It's just...” Dean swallows heavily. “Nevermind, forget about it.”**

**“You're afraid of flying, aren't you?”**

**Dean turns to his brother and glares, “Well I've never done it before. Why do you think I drive everywhere, huh?”**

**Sam shakes his head and shrugs, “The risk of a plane actually crashing is incredibly slim. There are way more accidents caused by driving than by flying, Dean.”**

**“Shut up.”**

**Raising his hand in the air, Sam leans over into the aisle, “Excuse me?”**

**A stewardess with long black hair looks over and smiles. She smoothes out her blue uniform and makes her way to Sam and Dean's seats.**

**Dean looks up and the first thing he sees is the top button of the stewardess's uniform unbuttoned, giving him a lovely view of her cleavage. She has a name-tag pinned on her chest.**

**“ _Hello_ , Pamela,” he coos.**

**Sam elbows him in the side and Dean frowns.**

**“Hi, sorry, could we get a glass of water? It's for my brother, Dean, here. You see, he has a medical condition that causes a terrible rash on his – ”**

**Dean slaps him on the arm, “Shut up, I do not!”**

**Pamela chuckles under her breath and smiles, “I can get you some water. Just a minute.”**

**She walks away and Dean turns to Sam, his hands in the air, “What the hell was that for?”**

**Sam shakes his head innocently, “I have no idea what you're talking about.” He turns to face the window. All that's visible below the clouds outside is vast, blue ocean.**

**Pamela returns with a glass of water. Dean smiles and takes it from her hand, but as she pulls away, she slips a small folded up note between his fingers. Flashing him a wink, Pamela turns on her heels and heads back to the other side of the cabin.**

**Looking to his left, Dean sees that Sam's not watching and he opens up the note. Scribbled in black ink are the words, “Meet me in the back. Five minutes.”**

**With a smirk, Dean stuffs the note in his jacket pocket and leans into his seat, a little less tense than before. He takes sip from the glass of water and licks his lips. It's a little salty, like it wasn't filtered enough. Two seats ahead of him and diagonal, a young blonde woman is sitting with her legs folded on the seat. She's watching a film playing on her laptop with earbuds in her ears. Dean leans over and squints to try and make out the images on the screen. Is it _The Godfather_?**

**Suddenly, a bigger woman with light brown hair storms up behind the girl and rips the earbuds from her head. Dean sits back and pretends not to pay attention, when really, he can see the whole event out of the corner of his eye.**

**“What do you think you're doing, young lady?” the older woman puts her hands at her hips as the younger one faces her with an angry expression. The blonde's cheeks are flushed red like she's been caught doing something she's not supposed to.**

**“You followed me?” she closes her laptop with more force than one normally would.**

**“I am your mother, Joanna Beth, do you really think I was just gonna let you throw your life away?”**

**Their argument can be heard throughout the whole cabin, but everyone else remains in their seats, looking away and starting up conversations with those next to them so the mother-daughter scene is a bit less awkward.**

**Sam cranes his neck and looks over the seat ahead of him at the spectacle. “I wonder what she did.”**

**Dean shrugs nonchalantly and pulls himself from his seat. “I dunno, but I ain't sticking around to find out.”**

**In the background, the women's argument is escalating.**

**“Where you going?” Sam cocks his head.**

**Looking back towards the bathrooms, Dean sees the stewardess, Pamela, folding napkins at the service station.**

**“Gotta use the bathroom.”**

 

    Dean falls onto the grass, his knees hitting the ground. Other survivors sit on either side, behind and in front of him. He doesn't know any of them.

    What happened here? How did he survive? How did any of these people survive?

    Lifting a hand to his temple, Dean presses a couple fingertips to the tender spot. When he pulls them back, they're painted with blood. They're not soaked, but there's enough blood for it to be an issue if it's not tended to. If he had his car and medical kit, he'd be able to patch himself up in no time. But he doesn't have his car. He doesn't have his things. He doesn't have anything.

    A voice calls out from the ocean shore. Dean lifts his head to see the source. Trudging through the wreckage, a tall man is making his way to the trees and grassy area.

    “Dean?” he calls out, voice cracked a bit.

    Dean's eyes go wide. His chest tightens and heart sinks to his stomach. “Sam!”

 

    **Lifting her up onto the tiny sink's ledge, Dean buries his face in Pamela's neck. She spreads her legs on either side of him, skirt hiking up her thighs, revealing the top of her stockings.**

**“Did you lock the door?” Dean murmurs into her ear as his hands slide up Pamela's legs, resting at her hips.**

**“You scared someone might see us?” she smirks and nibbles at his collarbone.**

**“Not really.”**

**“I guess I could lose my job, but seriously? It's worth it to have a little fun.”**

**Dean chuckles, his lips brushing her cheek. He pulls her tight to his body and kisses her hard on the mouth. Pamela brings one of her hands to Dean's front and slips it down past the buckle of his belt where she gives him a gentle squeeze.**

**“Nnngh,” he moans, pressing into her fingers.**

**As Pamela begins to unzip his fly, the plane hits a pocket of air, making it tip a little to one side. Dean instantly pulls away, his eyes wide. He closes his mouth and holds onto the sink, attempting to steady himself.**

**“It's okay. It's just some turbulence, totally normal,” Pamela smiles and kisses him on the cheek.**

**Dean lets out a long breath as the plane goes back to normal.**

**“Never been in a plane before...” he admits, muttering quietly.**

**Bringing her hand back to Dean's pants, Pamela smirks and attempts to get his mind off it.**

**As he gives in and leans between her legs, suddenly the plane shifts again, this time more violently. A loud mechanical groaning rips through the center of the cabin and Dean and Pamela are sent crashing into the other side of the tiny bathroom.**

**The force of gravity turns the plane almost a complete ninety degrees. Tremendous popping and breaking noises sound from the rest of the vessel, accompanied by the passengers' screams.**

**“Hey, what's going on?!” Dean shakes Pamela by the shoulders, but she seems to be unconscious. “Shit, we're gonna die! I friggin’ knew it!”**

**He fumbles frantically to hold onto something, but the weight of Pamela's body on top of him makes it hard to maneuver. The plane whistles through the air, pulling Dean to the bathroom wall as if it's the floor. He manages to push Pamela off of him and tuck her between the toilet and the sink, but gravity is too strong and he's unable to get very far.**

**Something snaps from outside the bathroom and explodes, causing the whole plane to shake. Dean is thrust hard against the door and it bursts open, sending him crashing into the wall on the other side. Gripping a cord hanging from the luggage compartment, bits of plane fly past him. He looks back and sees the entire back end of the plane is gone and all he can that's in view is the sky and clouds quickly becoming further and further away with every second that passes.**

**A hard piece of metal flies back and hits Dean straight in the head. His eyes close. He feels his body lift from the plane as he lets go of the cord between his hands. The clamor pierces his eardrums and everything goes black.**

 

    Dean scrambles to his feet, pushing off from the ground beneath him. He now recognizes the man standing thirty feet away.

    “Sammy!”

    Sam slows his pace and a big smile forms at his lips.

    “Dean, you're alive!”

    Continuing to run towards his little brother, tears well up in the corner of Dean's eyes, burning the sandy, dry skin at his cheeks.

    In that same instant, a piece of the fuselage suddenly ignites right next to Sam. A loud boom creates a tremble through the ground and the wreckage explodes, sending fire and metal spitting in all directions through the air.


	2. Why Hawaii?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel's past is revealed as he tries to help the other survivors after the crash.

     Lifting his face from the thick, wet sand below him, Cas lets his eyes adjust to the situation he's found himself in. Straight ahead is a giant chunk of circular metal, so huge it would encompass half of a building. Sparks and heat emanate from the metal's jagged opening.

    Pulling himself up on his elbows and out of the current sloshing up onto the beach shore, Cas wipes the sand and saltwater from his face. His hand moves over his head, through his scalp and he pulls bits of fiberglass and metallic material from the dark strands of hair.

    The chunk of circular metal, he now realizes, is half of the airplane he was on less than five minutes ago. As he squints and pulls himself along the sand, Cas sees the seats and wires hanging from the plane's open center. _What caused this?_ He takes a breath and thinks to himself. _No matter what it was, somehow I'm still alive._

    Struggling a little to get to his feet, the ocean water filling his shoes and weighing down his pant-legs, Cas manages to stand somewhat straight. Laid out like a recently demolished structure, the three huge pieces of the airplane line the ocean's shore. From what Cas can make out, the cabin, also the biggest piece of the wreckage, was somehow split in half and it now lies partly in the water. The wing, which must have broken off from the plane's side in the crash, sticks straight up about thirty feet away from the cabin. Then, even further away, the fuselage burns and groans as if the plane is never even stopped running. Away from all the wreckage, vast mountains and trees surround the small beach. Just from observation, Cas concludes the best thing to do, it seems, is to move inland.

    Taking some heavy steps through the sand, he sees to his left, a body facedown in the water, not moving except to float towards the shore. Cas stares for a moment, trying to decide if he should pull the body in an attempt to resuscitate it. Maybe there's still time for this man in the water. Maybe he has a chance of living.

    With a self-reassuring nod, Cas bends down and grips the body by the man's shirt. He flips him around, grunting at the weight. As he turns the body over, the man's face is revealed. Cas steps back, immediately dropping him down onto the sand. From the man's forehead, across an eye, and to his mouth, a deep gouged out wound spurts salt water and blood. Cas covers his mouth and looks away.

    On the back of his throat, he can feel saliva pooling. The acidic taste of bile teases his tongue and Cas presses his hand flat against his mouth, keeping himself from vomiting as he gags.

    Staggering sideways away from the dead body and the ocean's waves lapping up close to his shoes, he moves to an area nearby the airplane's wing. Other survivors run by, some yelling, some sobbing and talking quietly to themselves. Cas can't make out anyone that he recognizes until he hears a woman scream from beside the fuselage. She just stands there cradling herself with her arms, screaming a high pitched cry.

    Cas covers his ears and pulls back. The scream is shattering compared to the murmur of chaos from the rest of the beach. He recognizes the woman from where she had been sitting on the plane. She was in the row in front of him and when her mother arrived, an argument between the two ensued. As he swallows the sick down his throat and inhales from his mouth, Cas looks closer to where she's standing, and more importantly, to the fuselage behind her.

 

**32 Hours Earlier**

**Adjusting the blue tie at his collar, Cas looks straight ahead into a mirror. He has dark bags under his eyelids the color of bruises. The stubble around his jaw and mouth needs to be trimmed or shaved or both. On both cheeks, trails from recent tears tickle his skin and serve as a reminder that although the tears are gone, the pain is still there.**

**A slender woman with brown hair and pale skin approaches from down the hall. She's wearing a striped nightgown that goes down to her knees and her lips form a thin, tight line. She stands her distance from Cas and cocks an eyebrow.**

**“Are you ready?”**

**He slowly nods in response, swallowing a lump in his throat.**

**“Are you crying?”**

**Cas pauses before responding in a low tone, “No, Amelia.”**

**Bending down to pick up a black suitcase, he hooks his fingers in the handle and starts to carry it in the opposite direction. Moving down the stairs of a well decorated house, Cas catches quick glances at the portraits and photos displayed expertly on the walls. He gets to the bottom step and averts his eyes to the floor, unable to bring himself to look at the rest of his surroundings as he heads to the door.**

**Amelia follows a few steps behind and stands back with her arms folded at her chest.**

**“Make sure you give me a heads up before you come get the rest of your stuff in case I'm not going to be home.”**

**He nods.**

**“Oh, and don't forget the spare key.”**

**Sighing under his breath, Cas sticks a hand into his pocket, moves his fingers around, creating the sound of clinking metal and pulls out a key ring. He sets the black suitcase down and flips through each key on the chain until he reaches a small gold one. Slipping it off the circle hoop and freeing it from the others, he holds it out in front of him between two fingers. Hesitantly, he places it on a small table beside the door.**

**Suddenly, soft footsteps come pitter-pattering in from the next room over. A young girl with bright blonde hair and a space between her two front teeth wipes her eyes and yawns. She's wearing pink fluffy socks on her feet with little cat faces patterned on the fabric. Amelia hurries to her, surprised that she's up so late.**

**“Claire, sweetie, go back to sleep.”**

**The little girl looks up at Cas and cocks her head to the side. He smiles warily and bends down to put a hand on her shoulder.**

**“Listen to your mother, honey.”**

**Claire glances at Amelia and then looks down at the suitcase at Cas's feet.**

**“Where are you going, daddy?”**

**He purses his lips together, not sure what to say. Looking up at Amelia, his eyes stare nervously, searching for an answer.**

**“I...” he begins, but his voice trails off.**

**“Daddy's going away for a little while,” Amelia says finally. She catches Cas's nervous eye contact and responds to it with a stern, hard expression.**

**He turns back to his daughter. “We might not see each other for a little while, Claire, so give daddy a big hug?”**

**Blinking and confused, Claire shakes her head, “Where are you going?”**

**Cas lets out a long exhale. It's hard to keep the tears in, but he's doing it for the sake of his daughter. “Somewhere different. But daddy will be back soon, don't worry. You have to keep mommy company.”**

**She doesn't seem to be happy, in fact, Claire's lip begins to tremble and she lunges forward, wrapping her arms around her father's neck. She nuzzles into Cas's neck and he bites the inside of his mouth, telling himself he's strong, he won't cry, not here.**

**“But I don't want you to leave,” Claire protests, her voice muffled.**

**“It's going to be alright, honey, just trust me.”**

**Cas forces himself to let go, forces himself to pry his daughter away from him and take a step back. Amelia reaches forward and rests her hand on Claire's shoulder. She starts to lead her back toward her bedroom but Claire looks over her shoulder. Cas has his suitcase and is already part of the way out the door. He sees his daughter's face one last time and flashes her a smile before closing the door and the screen and then turning away.**

**Cas takes a breath as he stands now alone on his front porch. Flooded with emotion, the realization of his departure hitting him hard in the chest, he falls back against the wall. Tears come rushing from his eyes, running down his cheeks to claim their earlier paths. He covers his mouth as he begins to bawl. He's quivering, face soaked from tears, lips wet from the tears and mucous from his now running nose. Cas leans his whole weight into the wall and slides slowly down to the porch floor. He's outside and they're in. He let her down. He made a promise he couldn't keep.**

**Sucking in a raspy breath, Cas coughs a little, sniffling. This is his life now. This is the life he has to live.**

 

    “Miss, you need to step away from there,” Cas calls out to the screaming blonde. He can see right past her, there is a fire within the fuselage that burns slowly inside the circular structure. Even more distressing is a line of dripping oil from the top of the encasing, spreading the fire little by little.

    Stepping forward with his hands over his ears to try and drown out the high pitched scream, Cas tries to assert the urgency of the situation.

    “That thing is going to explode and you need to move away from it!”

    She refuses to pay him any attention and Cas can tell the fuselage is only minutes away from igniting completely.

    Taking another step in an attempt to grab the woman, Cas trips, falling to the ground. His shoe's caught in a long plastic case embedded into the sand, most likely from the baggage compartment of the plane. He pulls his foot free, the wetness of the fabric making it hard to maneuver. As he begins to stand to his feet, squinting as the blonde woman's voice cracks from a few feet away, suddenly, a piece of the fuselage breaks off, splitting into small pieces, flying out at them.

    Cas ducks and pulls his arms over his head, curling into a ball in the sand. Small shards of sharp metal rain through the air in all random directions. Some pieces land on his back, cutting his shirt, stinging slightly but only for a moment.

    The screaming has stopped and Cas picks his head up, fearing for the worst. Ahead of him, the blonde woman is kneeled into the sand, her hands over her ears. She's shaking, bits of the metal in her hair and stuck in her clothes like sequins. Luckily the blast was small, and she doesn't seem to be injured, but now that a piece of the fuselage had broken off, that means there's only more to come.

    “Take my hand,” he offers, pushing himself up onto his knees and extending a hand to her. She just stares, wide eyed. Frowning, unsure why this woman doesn't care to get to safety, Cas stands up with some effort and walks over to her. He bends down and takes her hand. “It's going to be alright, just trust me.”

    Slowly, the woman looks up, blinking past tears as her and Cas make eye contact. They stare at each other, connecting for not even a minute, but connecting nonetheless. Her wide, brown eyes begin relax, her pupils gradually contracting. Cas gives her hand a gentle squeeze and bows his head. He helps her up and brushes some of the debris from her shoulders.

    They begin to walk away from the fuselage, but Cas looks back. It's going to explode soon. The groaning from inside the round corridor keeps getting louder and more frequent. The fire inside sparks like a battery wire.

    Picking up the pace and heading towards the green grass at the edge of the jungle, Cas puts his hand on the woman's back and gives her a little push. She makes a noise and looks back.

    “You need to go toward those trees, okay?” he nods reassuringly.

    She opens her mouth to protest, but pauses and ends up biting her lip, nodding in return.

    Cas gives her one more gesture and watches as she turns around and heads for the trees. He makes sure she's made it far enough before he looks over his shoulder again at the fuselage. It's ticking like change in a washing machine, the fire roaring up past the slates in the structure. Nearby, Cas can see more people sitting a bit too close to the soon-to-be explosion. _Maybe there's still time to help them._

    Forcing himself to go back, he tries to run. His socks are soaked, rubbing uncomfortably on his toes and the back of his ankle, blistering the tender skin. His dress pants cling to his legs, making it hard to walk, let alone tread through mounds of sand.

    The wreckage makes a large groan as it shifts, breaking apart a little. Cas steps to the side, shielding his eyes as the heat from the fuselage hits him in waves. He pauses and sees someone sitting hunched over next to a broken plane seat. Going to him, Cas gets down on the ground and puts both hands on the man's shoulders. The man falls forward, face first into the sand. The saliva begins to pool again in Cas's throat as he realizes this man is dead. There's an open, deep wound on the man's neck and right below it, a thick shard of metal piercing his left shoulder blade.

    Coughing, feeling sick again, Cas pulls himself up and turns away fast. He takes a few steps and leans against the broken seat. He coughs, hacking and heaving against his will. Whatever he ate on the plane is trying to make its way up his esophagus.

    “Sam?”

    Suddenly, there's a tap on his shoulder and Cas turns quick, swallowing. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and looks upon a man with short, light colored hair, and a distressed look on his face.

    “N-no, sorry,” Cas responds, narrowing his eyes.

    “Have you seen a guy named Sam? He's uh...tall, brown hair about yeh high – ” the light haired man makes a gesture to his neck. “He's really tall and his name's Sam.”

   _I don't know anyone here. I don't even know how to talk to them. What would I say?_

    Cas purses his lips and lets out a soft, low sigh.

    The man continues to speak although it's clear Cas has no idea who “Sam” is.

    “He's my kid brother. I gotta find him.”

    Lifting an eyebrow, Cas feels a sharp pit in his stomach all of a sudden. “A child?” He hadn't seen any children since he got out of the water. In fact, it hadn't even crossed his mind since his own child wasn't on the plane.

    The other man seems displeased. Apparently Sam is not a child. Before Cas has any time to say anything else, the man just walks off towards the grassy area of the beach, away from the wreckage. Cas watches him go, and something about him seems familiar. Not from the plane, not from the crash, but from somewhere else.

   

    **Leaning back against a cushy array of velvet pillows, Cas spreads his legs out wide on a large bed. He's in a motel room decorated with red hearts and satin white curtains. It's a honeymoon suite. Wearing only a pair of striped boxers, Cas looks across the room at his dress clothes laying over the back of an armchair.**

**“What's taking you so long?” he calls out at the bathroom door. It's closed with light shining out from the crack at the bottom and there's a shadow of someone moving around on the other side.**

**“Just a minute, gosh. You're always so impatient,” says a voice on the other side.**

**“Well it's not like we have all night. I have to be up early for my flight tomorrow morning.”**

**There's a pause and Cas rolls over on his side, fluffing up the covers and pillows.**

**“I wish you could stay.”**

**Cas sighs and closes his eyes, “You know I can't. At least not right now.”**

**“But...you could stay with me and my mum. She wouldn't mind.”**

**The door opens and Cas smiles. A tall man with blonde hair emerges, wearing only his boxers as well. He climbs onto the bed and crawls over to Cas.**

**“Bal, I can't,” Cas shakes his head and averts his gaze to the man's chest, avoiding looking straight into his eyes. “I have to get back on my feet so I can be a good father again.”**

**“Being gay doesn't make you a bad father, you know,” Balthazar reaches to Cas's chin and lifts it up a little.**

**“You know what I mean.”**

**“But why Hawaii? Why not somewhere close by?”**

**Cas smiles crookedly, “That would defeat the point.” He leans in and presses his lips to Balthazar's.**

**They hold the kiss for a moment before both pulling away. Cas props up on one elbow and rolls on top of the other man. He moves his hands slowly over Balthazar's chest, his fingertips teasing each inch of skin before diving down past his hips and beneath his boxers.**

 

    A loud crack snaps Cas back to reality and he turns to face the fuselage once more. Other survivors run around him, some tripping, some going fast. He needs to get out of here.

    “Run!”

    With a deep breath, he moves away from the seats and begins to run toward the jungle. The green trees and grass seem so safe compared to the fires and sandy wreckage of the beach. Cas looks back. The ticking and groaning is so loud, he can no longer hear the distinct cries of everyone around him.

    One step, he's kicked up a patch of sand, closer to the jungle. A second step, he's passed a group of huddled survivors. Another step, he looks back at the huge metal fuselage. Another, he sees the blonde woman standing under a palm tree, far enough away he knows she'll be safe. Cas locks his gaze on the woman and for a moment, he sees his daughter. Claire standing in her pajamas, her pink fuzzy slippers, and her blonde hair blowing gently in the breeze. She waves to him and Cas blinks. The blonde woman is gesturing for him to hurry, her expression emanating the perilousness of the crash.

    Cas runs as fast as he can while the blisters on his feet cut open on his shoes. He runs and the fuselage explodes, heat rushing out, metal and glass ripping through the air. The force sends him falling forward.

    There's a ringing in his ears as Cas lifts his head from the ground. He digs his fingers into the soil beneath him and that's when he realizes he's made it to safety. He's lying in the grass, the cool, soft grass of the jungle's edge.

    Fluttering his eyes, Cas exhales as he relaxes under the shade of a tree. Before his eyes shut, Claire's name leaves his lips in a whisper.


	3. Normal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam is unconscious and Dean does everything he can to make sure he doesn't lose his little brother again.

**6:59.**

**7:00.**

**_And anytime you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain_**

**_Don't carry the world upon your shoulders_ **

**_For well you know that it's a fool who plays it cool_ **

**_By making his world a little colder_ **

**_Nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah_ **

**Stretching his arms out to the sides as he stands up from a large king-sized bed, Sam slips on a pair of black, cushy slippers. He smiles a little, pulling back some wooden shades to reveal a small, but well decorated bedroom. The sun creates a warm, fulvous layer of light over the sheets, making it easy to tidy up and make the bed without even having to turn a light on. After holding the blankets into a straight, crisp line and tucking the sheets evenly under the mattress, Sam pats the top pillow and smoothes out the fabric.**

**On a small table at the bedside is a framed photograph of Sam and a woman with long, curly blonde hair. They have their arms around each other and stand under a willow tree. They look very much in love.**

**Going through a door across from his bed, Sam leaves it ajar and makes his way to the bathroom sink. He turns the water on. Letting it run over his hands until they are thoroughly wet, he leans down, closes his eyes and splashes his face a few times. Sam lets out a low sigh and pushes back his hair with wet fingers, slicking the side strands behind his ears.**

**Beside the faucet is a small colorful cup with a toothbrush and toothpaste inside. He takes out the tube of Colgate and effortlessly flicks the top up, squeezing the sides until a small line of sparkly white goo slides onto the brush’s bristles. Sam smiles wide at his reflection in the mirror, revealing his perfect teeth. Bringing the brush to his mouth, he begins to move it in circular motions, to the side, to the back, up front, up and down until foam is dripping from his lips and he has to spit. He washes the brush, runs it over his tongue, washes it again and then gurgles with some Listerine. It's all very routine.**

**_Take a sad song and make it better_**

**_Remember to let her under your skin_ **

**_Then you'll begin to make it_ **

**_Better better better better better better_ **

**Clicking the “alarm” button on his clock, Sam turns off the music. The song reminds him of someone. Someone he doesn't want to be reminded of.**

**Next is the shower. Pulling back the dollar store plastic shower curtain, he turns the hot water knob and lets it run for a second or two before stepping into the tub. Steam begins to rise and the warmth hits Sam on the back like a much needed massage. He stands there with closed eyes, letting the water soak his hair and his bare skin before reaching up to start lathering shampoo on his head.**

**Once the room is filled with heavy steam and his shower is complete, Sam gets out and wraps a towel around his waist, tucking the corner against his hip. He bends down and shakes his head side to side quickly like a wet dog.**

**The mirror is clouded up and he wipes it with the palm of his hand. Inspecting the sides of his face, Sam glances over at a razor sitting pristinely on the counter. He looks back at his face. It's a little stubbly, but someone told him once that he looked more grown up when he hadn't shaved in at least day.**

**On the wall above the toilet, Sam sees a circular clock hit 7:28. He has to go soon.**

**Dropping the towel, he runs back into the bedroom and grabs a pair of boxers from a neat pile of clothes sitting on his dresser. He pulls on a pair of dress slacks, buttons a shirt and wraps a black tie around his collar. In the reflection of his television, Sam completes the knot on the tie and straightens it down his front. Finally, he pulls on the matching suit jacket and does the first button. He's ready to go.**

**Taking one last glance at himself and a deep breath before opening his front door, Sam smiles.**

**“Today's the big day.”**

**As he's about to leave, suddenly he remembers something and runs back inside. On a chair in the corner of his bedroom is a brown leather briefcase with his initials inscribed on the front. He grabs the handle and bolts out the door.**

**Ten minutes and a shaky subway ride later, Sam stands at the steps of a large building with huge glass windows and a fountain at its center. Above the revolving doors leading inside it reads, “Carson and Associates: Attorney at Law.”**

 

    The ground feels as if it's shaking as thick, black smoke lingers up into the sky, filling the air. Sam is on his back, arms bent out in strange angles beside him. He's in the sand surrounded by scraps of metal, heat and smoke. His eyes are closed.

    “Sammy!” Dean comes running from the grassy edge of the jungle. He reaches his brother lying in the sand and drops to his knees, coughing up smoke, eyes watering from the high temperatures. “Sam, goddammit, wake up!”

    He looks over the length of Sam's body, trembling. There's a large rip in his shirt on his left side, right below his ribs. Sticking out is a jagged, sharp piece of metal, covered in Sam's blood.

    Dean is starting to breath heavily, panicking as he places his hands gently on either side of the wound. Immediately, blood begins to pool faster out of Sam's abdomen.

    “Fuck,” Dean exclaims under his breath, searching around the sand as if he can somehow find something to help in there. His hands shake and he lifts one to his forehead. It's covered in blood from Sam's wound, but that doesn't matter. What matters is that Dean's little brother isn't waking up.

    Lifting his head and looking out at the survivors spread out, standing and sitting around the jungle's edge, Dean calls out as loud as he can, “Help! I need some help over here.”

    No one comes to his aid. Everyone seems preoccupied with moving away from the wreckage, not towards it. Dean swears to himself again and stands up, cupping his hands around his mouth, “Someone help! I need a doctor!”

    No response again. Dean looks down at Sam. The blood is trickling out onto the sand, painting it red. There's not much time.

    “Stay right here, Sammy,” Dean says to his brother, nodding reassuringly. “I'll be right back.”

    Running out towards the jungle again, Dean calls out to everyone he sees, desperately looking for anyone who will help. Meanwhile, Sam remains on his back, the smoke clearing overhead, letting some sunlight shine down on his face.

 

    **Sitting at the edge of his seat, hands folded precisely in his lap, Sam looks across a large oak desk at an older man in a grey suit. The brown briefcase is propped up on the floor, leaning against the foot of his chair.**

**The man leans forward and places both elbows nonchalantly on his desk. He sighs and looks at Sam.**

**“Your references check out, your transcript is beyond excellent, I mean, Stanford is quite impressive.”**

**“Thank you, sir,” Sam nods politely.**

**“Call me, Zach, please,” he smiles. “I guess what I'm trying to say here, Sam, is that I can't think of any reason not to welcome you into our firm. You really are our best candidate for the job.”**

**Sam exhales softly. It's clear some tension has just been lifted from his shoulders.**

**“You do understand that a job like this is very competitive, very fast paced. You may have to work overtime every so often, even on holidays.”**

**“I understand.”**

**Zach smirks and straightens up in his chair. “Well then, it looks like you've got yourself a job.” He extends his arm and holds out his hand across the desk. “Welcome to the firm, Sam.”**

**Sam looks as though he might pass out from relief. He grasps Zach’s hand and gives it a strong, enthusiastic shake, a smile wide at his lips.**

**“Thank you so much, sir...uh, I mean Zach.”**

**The older man chuckles and releases the handshake. “Can you start tomorrow? I know it's short notice, but we could really use you as soon as possible.”**

**Sam's eyes widen. He's completely taken aback. “Tomorrow? Yeah, I'll definitely be here.”**

**Zach stands up and Sam follows suit.**

**“I'm glad to have you part of our team, Sam. I can see great things happening for you.”**

**“I'm glad to be a part of it!” he nods, picking up his briefcase and holding it between his arm and side.**

**Zach leads him out the door and waves goodbye. Sam walks a few feet down the hall, beaming like a fool. He stops at a window looking out at the bustling city street below and closes his eyes.**

**“I can't believe it. I can't actually believe – ”**

**Suddenly, his pocket starts to buzz, pulling Sam out of his reverie. He digs out a Blackberry and looks down at the incoming call number. It's not one of his contacts, but for some reason, the digits seems familiar to him. Sam clicks a green button and holds the phone to his ear.**

**“Hello?”**

**“Sam?”**

**He pauses and wrinkles his brow.**

**“Dean? Is that you?”**

**“Yeah, yeah it is, Sammy.”**

**Sam looks around the hallway and huffs a breath before making his way to the stairs and towards the lobby.**

**“Why are you calling me?”**

**“Nice to hear from you too...Listen, we've got a problem.”**

**“We?”**

**“Dad's dead.”**

**Blinking a few times, Sam stops in his tracks and holds the phone closer to his ear.**

**“W-what?”**

**“He was in Hawaii and I got a call earlier. He had an accident.”**

**Sam pauses again and clears his throat. He glances around. No one's watching.**

**“You're serious?”**

**“Why the hell would I joke about something like this?”**

**“I...I don't know,” he runs a hand through his hair and leans against a wall in a small corridor of the law firm. “What should we do?”**

**“Well his body's still in Hawaii. I was kinda hopin' you'd come with me to go get it.”**

**He nods slowly, “Yeah, we should do that.”**

**“You okay?”**

**“I'm fine.”**

**“I'll meet you at LAX tomorrow around noon. I've already booked the plane tickets.”**

**Panic. Sam swallows heavily. “Tomorrow?”**

**“Well, yeah, Sammy, we have to get him soon. He didn't have insurance, so his body's in some crappy hospital morgue decaying as we speak.”**

**“Do you have to be like that? He's dead.”**

**“Like what?”**

**“Nevermind...it's just really bad timing.”**

**He can hear Dean scoffing on the other end. “Bad timing? Well pardon me, but this is kinda important.”**

**“I know...I know.”**

**“So all you gotta do is go online and print out your ticket. It's already under your name.”**

**“Thanks, I guess...see you tomorrow then.”**

**Sam hangs up before even hearing what Dean has to say in response. There's a men's room to his right and he goes inside. Leaning over the sinks, Sam lowers his head. He takes some deep breaths and looks up at himself in the wide mirror on the wall. His skin has gone pale, lips are trembling. He doesn't even realize it, but he's turned the water on and his fingers are under the faucet. Inhaling, he splashes his face and looks back up at himself in the mirror.**

 

    “Help! Is there anyone here with medical experience?” Dean runs towards the survivors, screaming, but they just shake their heads and descend into themselves even more with fear.

    He looks back at Sam and kicks his foot into the sand, grunting angrily. “Goddammit, what kind of people do you think you – ”

    An older man approaches, his hands extended, “Calm down, boy.” He has a thick beard and a paternal quality about him.

    Dean cocks his head to one side and stares incredulously at the man. “Calm down? Calm down?”

    The man nods, “You heard me. These people just survived a damn plane crash, they're worryin' about their own troubles. Give 'em a break.”

Completely taken aback, Dean puts his hands at his hips and shakes his head at the man, “I'm sorry but these people look perfectly fine. My brother, on the other hand, is bleeding to death on the shore over there.”

    The bearded man leans to one side and looks over Dean's shoulder. He squints as he looks at Sam laying in the sand.

    “Alright, we're gonna need some fabric and a little alcohol” he starts looking around at the ground, then back at Dean. “And if you want me to help, you're gonna have to be a little less rude and let me do what I can to help him.”

    Dean eases a bit, “You're a doctor?”

    “Close enough,” the man grabs a half-ripped purse from the sand and starts going through it. “I served as a medic in Vietnam.”

    Dean's eyes go wide and he nods in acceptance. Letting out a deep breath, he looks back at Sam again. “What can I do?”

    “You're gonna need to stop the bleeding and clear the wound. Here, this should work for now,” he hands Dean a small bottle of Hydrogen Peroxide from inside the bag. “Pour some of this on there – not all of it – and then make a bandage out of whatever fabric we can find. Ya might have to use your shirt.”

    “Okay, got it,” he takes the clear plastic bottle graciously and starts to turn back to Sam, but glances once more at the older man. “Hey, what's your name?”

    He smiles, “Name's Bobby. Now, go to your brother, I'll ask around for more supplies.”

    Dean runs back faster than he knew he could. He drops to his knees and puts his hands on Sam's wound again, pressing firmly. “C'mon, Sammy.” Leaning down, he brings his ear close to Sam's mouth. He's still breathing, but only faintly.

    Dean fumbles with the Peroxide cap, trying to twist it off with shaky hands. He finally gets it loose and throws it to the ground without thought. Tipping the full bottle, the clear liquid soaks Sam's wound, fizzing as soon as it makes contact with the blood. White bubbles form at the skin. Sam's body shudders a little and Dean brings his hand back, pressing gently again on the injury. Remembering what Bobby had said, Dean quickly holds out his arm and rips off a piece of his sleeve. He bunches it up in the palm of his hand and holds it right below the metal sticking out of Sam's side. With his other hand, Dean prepares to pull the shard out. He pinches his fingers on the edge and starts to pull.

    “No, don't do that!”

    Bobby comes behind him, eyes wide in sudden alarm. Another man is with him and Dean recognizes him from the moments right before the explosion. They are carrying some clothing and a few toiletry bags.

    “Do _not_ pull that out of there yet,” Bobby cautions, getting down on his knees on Sam's other side. “You could kill him by pullin' that out too soon.”

    Dean removes his fingers from the metal shard and nods.

    “This is Cas. He got some painkillers and other good stuff from that Andy kid,” Bobby gestures to the man with dark hair beside him.

    “Is he breathing?” Cas asks, keeping a distance while standing, holding an armful of clothes.

    Dean purses his lips together and exhales, “Yeah,” he keeps his eyes on his brother as Bobby dresses the wound, carefully minding the piece of protruding metal.

    “The stewardess gave me a spool of thread and a needle. It's a damn good thing she had 'em in her purse,” Bobby sets some of the fabric he was using to sop up the blood aside and pulls a small spool of blue thread from his back pocket. He starts to unravel a long string the length of his arms.

    Dean looks up and glances out at the palm trees where the other survivors are gathered. Standing in the grass is the stewardess, Pamela, watching the men from afar. She smiles sympathetically. Dean manages to fake a smile back, the corner of his lips turning up a little before he faces back to Sam.

    “From what it looks like, this thing missed the major organs, which is lucky. The determining factor here is stopping the bleeding.” Bobby sighs heavily and focuses his attention at Dean, their hands both covered in blood. “I'm gonna carefully pull this piece of metal out and you gotta keep pressing down on him. Then, after it's out, Cas, you're gonna pour more Peroxide on the wound and I'll stitch him up.”

    Cas's expression contorts and he pales, but he takes the bottle of Peroxide anyway and nods in agreement.

    Dean bunches up some women's flower patterned shirts and holds them tightly to Sam's abdomen. He looks his brother's face over. His gently closed eyes, his mouth open but words not coming out.

    “Don't worry, Sammy,” he whispers.

    Bobby places his hand around the piece of debris and raises an eyebrow at Dean, “You ready?”

 

**The sun is beginning to set over the Los Angeles skyline. In a small cemetery surrounded by trees and beautifully trimmed rose bushes, Sam stands looking down at a rectangular headstone in the ground. He's wearing his suit from earlier in the day, but the tie is undone around his neck and he's holding the blazer over one arm.**

**Breathing in deeply through his nose, he closes his eyes. A tear falls down his cheek, then another on the opposite side. He doesn't wipe them away.**

**“I don't know what to do,” Sam starts to speak, his voice cracks like a teenager's would. He clears his throat and continues to breathe deeply.**

**“Today was supposed to be the day. The day everything would work out. Today was supposed to be the day I moved forward and left everything behind. I just...I just want to leave it all behind, but I can't. I feel so selfish. I should care more about the fact that my dad's dead and I should be worried about Dean, but to be honest, I'm just so mad at them. I'm mad at them and I know I shouldn't be.”**

**He chokes a little on the tears and gets down on his knees.**

**“I just wanted something normal. We always talked about how this job would give us a normal life and now...now...”**

**Sam lays his hand on the stone's engraving. He moves his fingers back and forth, stroking the name gently.**

**“It was supposed to be different, Jess. It was supposed to be different.”**

 

    A fire burns in a small dug-out pit in the sand. There's a couple of survivors sitting next to it, a blanket around both of their shoulders. Bobby and the stewardess talk underneath some palm trees that block out the night sky from above. Two other survivors, the one in a police uniform and one man with a long 80s hairstyle share a box of Cheerios and talk quietly to each other. A few feet away is the blonde girl, no longer screaming, but curled partially in her mother's lap. They're both crying softly off to the side as the mother brushes some hair away from her daughter's face.

    Dean sits in the grass, his knees bent, back leaned up against a metal slab from the plane. By his feet, he's made a pad out of clothes and a broken plane seat where Sam lays, eyes closed, chest moving slowly up and down as he breathes. His button-up shirt is ripped in half and a makeshift bandage is wrapped tightly around his torso, covering the wound from earlier.

    Looking out on the ocean waves, Dean watches them lap up to the sandy shore and descend back. He's become mesmerized by it, not distracted by the others around him, not even by the man standing close by smoking a blunt, the smell of the drug wafting into Dean's air. He would ask for a hit any other time but this.

    As his eyes close and his body finally finds some release of tension after the events of today, Dean hears a soft murmuring and opens them back up quickly.

    Sam is moving a little on the ground, his brow furrowing, lips moving, sound barely coming out.

    Dean leans forward and tries to listen.

    “Sam, you awake?”

    An unintelligible response.

    “Sam?”

    Sam coughs a little and Dean pats his shoulder gently, leaning closer to try and hear.

    “What'd you say?”

    A moment of nothing, and then, Sam's voice becomes just loud enough to make out the words he's speaking.

    “...th...thanks.”


	4. Family Portrait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jo tries to find her parents amongst the survivors as she recalls the events leading up to the crash.

    **Sitting at the front of the plane, legs folded comfortably beneath her, Jo watches the end of _The Godfather_ although she's seen the film at least three other times before. She has the sound turned up extra loud to keep out any distracting noises that might come from the rest of the plane. The earbuds she's wearing don't do the best job at restricting the noise, but no one has said anything or asked her to turn it down yet. Somehow, although the movie sounds are loud, especially when gunshots are made, a teenage Asian boy is curled up next to her, snoozing away. Jo figures he must be able to sleep through anything and tries not to wake him. She decided beforehand to purposely keep herself busy with movies on the plane ride so she wouldn't be reminded how high up they were. Heights – not her favorite thing. Luckily, the boy was excited to trade for the window seat.**

**Jo shifts a little so she's leaning on one side, propped up on her elbow. A yawn escapes her lips. Only a couple more hours.**

**Right as the big climax is about to happen on her laptop screen, suddenly Jo's earbuds are ripped out of her ears from someone behind her.**

**“What the hell?” She turns angrily to see who's there.**

**“What do you think you're doing, young lady?” Ellen, Jo's mother, stands with her hands at her hips, appalled.**

**Violently pressing the spacebar on her computer, Jo pauses the film and turns completely to face her, cheeks flushed.**

**“You followed me?” she closes her laptop hard. The noise wakes the boy beside her and he stirs groggily in his seat. Jo pays him no attention.**

**“I am your mother, Joanna Beth, do you really think I was just gonna let you throw your life away?”**

**Jo shakes her head protestingly, “I'm twenty-one years old. I can do whatever I want.”**

**Ellen shrugs sarcastically, “Oh, so that trust fund that opens up for you next year, I can just throw that money away?”**

**The younger woman's eyes narrow and she clenches her jaw, “You wouldn't dare.”**

**Letting out a quick exhale, Ellen sits down in the empty seat across the aisle from Jo. A woman in the middle seat with light brown hair, right next to where Ellen just sat down, glances up from her book and lifts a brow as if her territory has just been encroached upon. She glares for a moment and then goes back to her book.**

**“Your father and I came to make sure that when we land in Hawaii, you don't make a bad decision.”**

**“You brought dad along too?”**

**“He's at the back of the plane, where our seats are. He thought it best I come alone to get you.”**

**Jo looks away, fuming, “What, so you could be bad cop and he could be good cop?”**

**“Your father and I both think this boy is bad news for you. And deep down, you know it's true.”**

**“ _This boy_ has a name. He loves me and this way we can be together again. Why the hell don't you want me to be happy?”**

**The Asian boy from beside Jo cranes his neck and tries to find a way to get past the arguing women. He huffs a breath, realizing he can't get around Jo to go into the aisle.**

**“Gordon is using you, honey. This is what he does. Didn't you learn anything at all from before?”**

**Jo folds her arms at her chest like a pouting child. Hers frown matches her mother’s..**

**The tension remains between them as both women are silent for a minute. Hitting a pocket of air, the plane rattles a little, tipping slightly to one side.**

**Jo holds onto the arm rest to steady herself and Ellen grabs at the seat ahead of her. When the turbulence subsides, Jo turns back to face her mom.**

**“I'm not coming back with you.”**

**Suddenly, the plane gets caught in another air pocket, this time shaking the cabin violently, turning it slowly to one side. The passengers yelp and start to panic. The boy next to Jo puts on his seatbelt hastily.**

**Jo clings to arm rests as the lights start to flicker and gravity pulls everybody to one side. An emergency notification blinks on the ceiling, dinging on and off like a bell.**

**“Joanna Beth, put on your safety belt,” Ellen orders, scrambling to get the clasps of hers to connect.**

**“Mom, what's happening?” the tone of Jo's voice has completely changed. Her heart races in her chest, stomach turning as she gets a glimpse out the window. The plane is going at the wrong angle, quickly headed for the ocean below. She starts to scream.**

**Ellen reaches over quickly to grab Jo's seat buckle, fighting with the force of gravity trying to pull her in the other direction.**

**“Jo, listen to me, you need to put this on!” she can't reach the other side of the buckle and Jo is screaming, having a full fledged panic attack, squeezing the seat with white knuckles.**

**Her laptop flies off her lap right as the oxygen masks are released from the compartments up above. The boy next to her reaches down between their seats and pulls the other half of the buckle up from where it had been stuck. He connects it with the other side and it clicks. Grabbing the oxygen mask above him, he places it over his face, then unravels the other one and gets it around Jo's face as well, despite her screaming.**

**“Jo, you're going to be okay. I love you, honey,” Ellen is focused on her daughter, trying not to pay attention to the other passengers' cries or the baggage flying out of the overhead chambers. She reaches for Jo's hand and pries it from the arm rest, squeezing her fingers tight, not letting go.**

**Glancing down at their hands, Jo stops screaming and then looks directly at her mother. They squeeze each others hands as the back part of the plane breaks off, sending the front cabin shooting faster down to the ocean water.**

 

    The events following the crash are a blur.

    Jo remembers crawling up out of the water, her body shaking and sore. The smell of smoke fills her nostrils. She can't find her mother, although they had been next to each other moments ago. There are dead bodies floating and lying in the sand all around her. Pieces of airplane debris litter the beach shore. She screams once she sees the broken plane. Where's the tail section? Where's her mother?

    Several men try to get her to stop screaming. She doesn't really see their faces or hear their voices, but she knows they're there.

    Then something explodes from behind her. It knocks her down, hurts her back and knees. The sound seems to have popped her eardrums and a ringing is all she can hear for a minute or two.

    A man reaches for her hand. She takes it. This is where she starts to remember things more clearly.

    When she looks up into the man's eyes and feels his hand tighten around hers, Jo realizes her cheeks are wet with tears. She's been crying this entire time and her eyes sting from doing so. The dark haired man is soothing, paternal. He wants to help her. Maybe he knows where she can find her parents.

    The man stands up, pulling Jo gently along with him. She doesn't protest or try to sit back down, instead, just lets him lead her away from the hot, burning debris behind her.

    Straight ahead, about thirty feet away, is a grassy area surrounded by palm trees and tall ferns. Several other people are huddled over there. The man gives her a push in that direction and she's reluctant at first. She thinks, maybe that's where her parents are. Biting her bottom lip, Jo continues to the grassy jungle.

 

**32 Hours Earlier**

**Curled up in her bed, wrapped in a flannel blanket, Jo has her cellphone pressed up against her ear. She's smiling wide, hugging her legs as the voice on the other end speaks. It's nighttime and all the lights are off but one small, glass lamp with a sheep at its base.**

**Jo giggles softly and leans back against her headboard.**

**“I told you, I don't care what they think. They don't own me, Gordon.”**

**“They practically do, holding that money over your head.”**

**“Only for two more months, though. Just two months.”**

**“I need you here now. I miss you.”**

**Jo smiles and lets out a long sigh, “I miss you too. But can't we wait just 'til I've got the money?”**

**“No, it has to be now, I already told you.”**

**“I just don't get why it can't wait for two months. The time'll go by fast, you won't even – ”**

**“C'mon, Jo, I already got your flight booked, don't make me do that again.”**

**She pauses, fiddling with the tassels at the edge of her blanket.**

**“Okay...”**

**“That's my girl. I can't wait to see you.”**

**Jo smiles, glancing across the room at a family photo of her parents and her from when she was a kid in pigtails.**

**“Me too.”**

 

    As she staggers through the sand, her feet dragging, feeling heavier than they should, Jo finally wonders how she's even alive right now. If she's lucky, this will all end up being some terribly realistic bad dream.

    When her shoes hit the dark green grass, she stops. Taking refuge under the palm trees, the survivors pay her no attention. From far away it seemed like there were more, at least twenty or thirty, but now that Jo sees them all up close she realizes, with horror, that there are less than ten people here.

    She turns slowly and looks back. The dark haired man who helped her is running away from the burning fuselage as making his way to this part of the beach. He seems to have his eyes on her so Jo waves him over, gesturing for him to hurry. Luckily, he is far enough away when the debris explodes, sending even more scraps in various directions across the shore.

    The force of the explosion unexpectedly sends her falling backwards, unable to control her body. Thinking she'll be on the ground in less than a second, Jo's surprised to find that instead of winding up on her ass, she's been caught by someone behind her mid-fall.

    “You okay?”

    Jo cranes her neck to look behind her. At first she wants to laugh, but laughter isn't easy right now. The man holding her up has the most out of date hairstyle she's seen, but despite that, he seems genuinely concerned for her safety. With his help, Jo stands to her feet.

    “I...I think so?” her response is delayed.

    Looking the man over with more attention, Jo wonders how this guy ever made it out of the 80s alive. He has double ear piercings, a sleeveless button-down and ripped jeans, which to his credit, may have been from the crash. And then there's his mullet. Hopefully this is some kind of weird dream, because this guy can't be real.

    Jo shakes her head and looks behind her, then side to side, realizing again that her parents are still nowhere in sight.

    “You sure you're okay?” the guy asks again.

    She recognizes his accent. Georgia or Tennessee maybe.

    “I...” she begins, swallowing heavily, “I can't find my mom and dad.”

    Glancing around at the others around them, the man nods reassuringly to himself before facing Jo again, “Lemme help.”

    She raises an eyebrow, “That's okay...All this; it's just a dream anyway. Don't worry about it.”

    He steps back and chuckles under his breath, “Don't flatter yourself. This ain't a dream.”

    Jo purses her lips together and rubs them back and forth. She's not in the mood to prove anything. And she's not even sure if she can.

    The man glances over Jo's shoulder and narrows his eyes, no longer with his focus on her, but on something else in the distance. He extends his arm and points.

    Confused, Jo turns around to see what he's looking at. Her legs go weak again as if the ground is shaking, but it's not. Not this time.

    “Mom?”

    “That her?”

    A woman sits with her back facing them, looking out at the ocean.

    Jo leaps forward, taking off in a sprint.

    “Mom!”

    She tears through the sand, almost tripping before she reaches the woman and gets down on her knees.

    Ellen doesn't say a word, doesn't move. All she does is blink when her daughter wraps her arms around her.

    “Mom? Mom, are you okay?”

    Jo squeezes her mother tightly, tears rushing down her face. She clings to her like a child, petting Ellen's hair gently as if trying to comfort her, but really, comforting herself. This feels real. Holding her mother, everything feels real and Jo's not sure if she wants it to be.

    When she pulls away, Ellen's lips part as if she's going to speak. Jo leans in, her hands still grasping her mother's shoulders. She doesn't want to let go. Not now.

    “Mom?”

    Ellen looks slowly at Jo, her face hauntingly expressionless. She waits a moment, taking in her daughter's presence before speaking.

    “Your father's dead.”

   

    **A digital clock sitting next to the family photograph of Jo and her parents reads 5:24 am.**

**In a full length mirror, Jo zips a faded denim jacket up to her bust and smoothes out the fabric, checking herself out while turning to the left and then the right. Her hair has been curled, makeup done, and she has a green duffle-bag by her feet, a blue plane ticket sticking out of the side pocket. Exhaling a long breath, she takes one last look at herself before grabbing the bag and slinging it over her shoulder.**

**Creeping out of her bedroom and into the hallway, she starts to make her way through the dark house. There's a nightlight on in the kitchen of the double-wide and Jo uses it as her guide to get to the front door. She gets there without making a sound, not even creaking the floor or bumping into furniture. Just as she's about to reach out to the door-handle and escape to the freedom outside, a lamp in the living room flicks on.**

**Ellen sits with one leg over the other. She looks totally content, but Jo knows otherwise. After all, she inherited her pokerface from her mother.**

**“Where do you think you're going?”**

**Jo makes an effort to groan and roll her eyes, “Leave me alone.”**

**“Not gonna happen.”**

**“I'm catching a plane in four hours. You can't stop me.”**

**“You're making a mistake.”**

**Jo shakes her head and stares angrily at her mother. “Who are you to lecture me on making mistakes?”**

**“What in the hell is that supposed to mean?” Ellen leans forward in the chair and eventually stands to her feet, still a distance apart from Jo.**

**“It means I'm not a kid anymore.”**

**“You're not, huh?”**

**“Stop treating me like one.”**

**Ellen places her hands at her hips, narrowing her eyes, “Then how 'bout you stop acting like one?”**

**Jo's nostrils flare and she balls her fists, clenching her knuckles. Is it worth it?**

**Reaching for the handle, she turns it quick and opens the door out in front of her. She pulls her bag close and starts to march outside when Ellen calls out to her again.**

**“What am I supposed to tell your father, huh?”**

**Jo looks back. Her jaw relaxes, but only a little.**

**“I'm sure you'll think of something.”**

**And with that last word, she's slammed the door behind her and taken off towards the taxi sitting in the drive.**

    The sun has set over the ocean and the sky is dark overhead. Bright stars shine up above, creating an intense contrast against their pitch black canvas. The waves lap up onto the sand; a sound commonly soothing, but for this group of castaways, a reminder of their hapless situation.

    Jo is standing by the water, arms wrapped around herself to keep warm from the breeze. She's looking directly up at the sky, intently staring as if it may change at any second. Behind her, footsteps crunch in the sand, but she doesn't turn to see who's there. Taking a few steps to stand right beside her, the man from earlier with the god-awful hair looks up at the stars as well. He has a box of Cheerios, his hand stuck inside, fishing around for cereal.

    “They look different; the stars,” he pulls his hand out and extends it to Jo. She looks down at the little yellow-brown o's in his palm and shakes her head.

    “No thanks.”

    “You should eat somethin'.”

    “I'm okay.”

    He shrugs and pops the handful into his mouth.

    They continue to stare up at the sky.

    “That guy, Cas, he's plannin' on doin' some sort of memorial tomorrow once we get everythin' sorted out.”

    Jo purses her lips together and chews a little on the inside of her mouth.

    “I'm Ash, by the way.”

    She opens her mouth and lets out a ragged sigh. Turning away, Jo starts heading back towards the other survivors sitting around a slow burning fire, leaving Ash standing by himself at the shore.

    He cocks his head to the side and watches her go step by step.

    “What's your name?”

    She doesn't respond.

    Ellen sits off to the side, away from the others huddled close to the fire. She's leaned back, legs crossed on a sleeping bag that must have come from the scattered luggage compartment. Jo approaches and looks her mother over before sitting down on the part of the sleeping bag that's not yet covered. Biting her trembling bottom lip, fighting with her own body, Jo tries to remain composed. She fights with the nerves shaking in her body and eventually, she loses.

    Collapsing into her mother's lap, Jo buries her face in her hands and begins to sob. Ellen immediately wraps her arms around Jo's shoulders and pulls her close. She rakes her fingers gently through her daughter's hair, combing the messy curls until Jo's cries subside and Ellen can tell she's finally asleep.


	5. Run!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bela is being chased through the jungle and it reminds her why she ran away in the first place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to take a moment to thank my beta [derpwinchestah](http://derpspoopychestah.tumblr.com/) <3

    Flashes of green whirl by as Bela hurries through the jungle brush. Branches and sharp weeds smack her exposed skin and snag onto the threads of her clothes. She's breathing heavily, continuing to run although there's no trail to follow. She looks quickly over her shoulder. There's no one behind her, yet she keeps going. Bela's running away from something. She's always running away from something.

    Reaching a dense area of shade where the trees have grown closer together and the plants aren't as high, Bela takes a moment to recollect herself. She looks to both sides, brow furrowed, breathing quick, ragged breaths. A twig snaps somewhere close behind her and she gasps, turning on her heels to run again. The sounds of the jungle gradually fade out as the only thing she can hear now is the pumping of her heart and each inhale she takes through her lungs.

    _Keep running. Don't stop. Don't ever stop running._

    The ground makes a shallow dip and Bela's foot gets caught in a thick root sticking up from the soil. She falls instantly, scraping her arm and the pad of her hand on some rocks.

    “Dammit...”

    She picks herself up on her elbows and frantically looks around. Wiggling her legs, trying to get free, Bela rolls her ankle, kicking the root with her shoe. It's stuck. She swears again under her breath, violently shaking her leg to pry it away. The root finally snaps and Bela pulls herself up on her knees. Her fancy slacks and blouse are covered in dirt, ruined.

    A gentle breeze blows past, lifting some of the leaves from the ground and causing the branches up above to sway. Following directly after, a voice whispers something unintelligible from nearby. At first she thinks it was the wind, but it repeats, louder this time and Bela stops what she's doing to listen. She stands perfectly still, eyes surveying everything around her, but in fact, no one's there.

    Swallowing a dry lump in her throat, she starts to back up, slowly at first, then with a quicker pace. Turning to run away from the noise, Bela's eyes go wide and her jaw drops. She remains perfectly still, staring in awe at a pitch black wave of smoke hovering mere feet away from where she's standing.

    The smoke, moving like some sort of snake, drifts closer to Bela as she pins her back up against a tree. It's the darkest black she's ever seen, the most ominous, yet peaceful entity she's ever come into contact with. Her eyes begin to water but she can't pull them away. Whatever this smoke is, it sees into her. And as she stares back, she sees into it.

 

**3 Days Earlier**

**Turning the handle to a solid white door, Bela removes her key from the lock and enters her apartment. It's a large studio suite, decorated with the most posh of styles from top to bottom. A thin siamese cat jumps up onto the kitchen bar counter and meows, welcoming Bela home. She smiles, setting down her purse and giving the purring cat a good rub behind her ears.**

**“Hello, Mina,” she says softly, bending down to place a kiss at the cat's head.**

**Bela zips open her purse and pulls out a handful of envelopes. She goes to the center of the apartment and lays back in a ruby red chaise lounge, fingering through the mail. On a glass table beside the lounge, Bela picks up a delicately ordained letter opener and uses it to slice open the envelopes. Inside each one is a credit card, all under different names. Loraine Hause, born in 1975. Hillary Williams, born 1980. It goes on and on. Mina jumps onto Bela's lap and meows again, nudging her head into the hand not holding the letter opener. Bela smirks, taking each credit card and setting them aside on the table next to her.**

**“This will do, wouldn't you say, sweet girl?” she wraps her hands around the cat's middle and pulls her up onto her chest.**

**Bela pets the cat from her head to her tail, smiling as Mina gets more comfortable and finally curls up. Reaching for a thin remote on the coffee table, Bela lets out a long sigh. She points the remote at a long silver box across the room and clicks a button. Suddenly, the box's lid comes up, revealing a record player underneath. The handle pops out and moves over a spinning record before dropping slowly down until the needle falls into place in the grooves. A brief moment of static and then classical Debussy begins to play. Bela closes her eyes and lets the music lull her to sleep.**

 

    Bela stares into the depth of the smoke, unable to peel her gaze away. The sound of her breathing subsides until her body and everything surrounding her is silent. She lets herself become hypnotized, enthralled by the darkness. It glides closer to her, so close that it's only inches away from her face and she could breathe it in if she wanted to. She lets herself lean forward, shoulders leaving contact with the rough tree trunk behind her. She leans as if her and the smoke are about to share a kiss, when suddenly, a very real, very loud voice calls from the jungle.

    “Hey!”

    The smoke slips away, disintegrating into the air until it's gone.

    Bela snaps back, shaking her head in disbelief. She glances behind the tree and sees someone parading through the brush. Unable to make out what the person look like, the only thing that matters to Bela is that she's being followed.

  _Keep running._

    Looking straight ahead, she pushes off from the tree, running in the same direction the smoke had come from.

    “Get back here!” the voice calls out. It's close. Too close.

    Bela sprints, kicking past thorn bushes and taking turns whenever something comes in her path. She refuses to look back. Refuses to let them see her face. It's more important to keep going and get away.

    The trees are becoming more and more spread out again and the sun is peeking through each branch. Bela's heart beats fast, thudding hard in her chest. Her sleeve gets caught on a thorny limb and she pulls it away, tearing the fabric. It cuts into her skin and she hitches her breath, grabbing her arm to stop the pain.

    The running footsteps behind her come closer, but Bela won't give up. She races through the trees, ignoring the burning in her calves and the tightness in her chest.

    _It's only pain. It will fade._

    She reaches an open area filled with tall grass and ferns. There's nowhere to hide. Frantically trying to decide which direction to go in, Bela runs forward towards some trees in the distance. She charges ahead, only to find herself at the edge of a steep, rocky cliff that had been hidden from sight up until now. Her balance falters and suddenly, the loose ground below her can't support her weight. The stones and soil give way, and Bela screams as she slips down the edge. She loses her footing completely and her feet dangle with nothing below them but a long drop down to the bottom.

    Her stomach slams down onto the edge, knocking the wind out of her. Gripping the grass tightly in her fingers, she's shaking in fear as she tries to pulls herself up to safety. The soil at her abdomen is beginning to break loose and Bela can feel herself start to slide down. The shards of grass cut her fingers, but she continues to squeeze.

    A chunk of the ground falls from underneath her right elbow and Bela screams again, one whole half of her body now dangling in the air. The sweat on her hands and fingers make it even harder to grasp the ground above and she realizes, in horror, that she's slipping.

    Just as her the grass starts to slide through her fingers, someone grabs her by the arm.

    “I've got you!”

    It's the voice from before.

    Blinking through tears, Bela looks up to see a bald, black man holding onto her from above. He tightens his grip on her forearm and wrist and begins to pull her up.

    “Grab onto my arm,” he says.

    Bela puts her other arm over her head and squeezes onto the man's sleeve. He grunts as he grips her tight and yanks her up over the edge.

    More stones and soil fall off the cliff as Bela is pulled up to safety.

    Once he's gotten her onto a solid patch of ground, the man falls backwards onto his rear and exhales loudly. Bela lies facedown in the grass, catching her breath after the trauma of nearly falling to her death.

    The man wipes away some sweat from his face and cocks his head at Bela.

    “Are you alright?”

    She leans up on her elbows and gets a good look at her rescuer. Eyes narrowing, she notices now that he's wearing a blue police uniform, a shiny gold badge with the name Henriksen pinned to his chest pocket.

    Their gazes meet.

    Bela's jaw clenches immediately. The corner below her left eye twitches and she opens her mouth to speak, voice low and deliberate.

    “ _You_.”

   

    **At a quiet, high class bar filled with cigar smoking gentlemen and the faint sound of clinking glasses, Bela sits at a table in the corner. She taps her foot nervously on the floor and stares off into the distance. Her posture is clearly forced and it's obvious by her expression that she doesn't want to be here.**

**A man in a grey suit and black tie comes in. He nods to the host and makes his way to where Bela's sitting. She looks up as he sits down across from her, a toothy smile wide at his lips.**

**“Hello, dear.”**

**Bela lifts a brow and turns away, opening up her purse to dig out a white, unlabeled envelope. She slides it across the table. The man places his hand on top of hers. He locks his gaze on her eyes and tightens his grip on her fingers, giving them a dominant squeeze.**

**“Is this everything?” he asks in a low tone.**

**She nods.**

**“Including this week's?”**

**Bela narrows her eyes, “It's everything.”**

**The man nods and gives the top of her hand a pat before removing his grip completely. She pulls her hand away quickly and folds it with the other in her lap.**

**“Good.”**

**She hates his voice. It's cold and smooth and every word is filled with brutal dishonesty. That's the difference between her and other thieves. They lie because they want to take advantage. They want to hurt and watch their victims fall apart until there's nothing left. Bela just wants to survive.**

**“I have another job for you,” the man tips his head to the side and places the white envelope on the inside of his suit jacket. He then pulls out a longer, shinier blue envelope and carelessly tosses it out on the table in front of Bela. She flinches.**

**“I want you to go on a little vacation. Have you ever been to Hawaii, Bela? I'm sure you haven't. Everything is already paid for, of course. All you have to do is go, relax and help me out with one more little job.”**

**She shifts a little in her seat, staring at the plane ticket in front of her before speaking straightforwardly, “No.”**

**The man folds his arms at his chest and grins, “Oh, Bela. You can't say no.”**

**“You said this would be the last one. You said – ”**

**“I said this would be the last one and it was. The last one...plus one more.”**

**She grits her teeth and glares into his eyes.**

**“After you bring back what I need from the fellas in Honolulu, you're free. No more cons, no more jobs. You can do whatever you want with your poor, pathetic little life.”**

**Bela doesn't respond. She remains silent, eyes fixed on the ticket between them on the table.**

**“So, what do you say?”**

 

    Pulling herself to her feet, Bela inches away from the police officer, minding the edge of the cliff. _Not letting that happen again_. She tenses up and quickly looks around for the quickest way out, or even better, a weapon.

    “You don't have to keep running,” he says, slowly bringing his hands out in front of him and gesturing for her to calm down.

    “Easy for you to say,” she retorts, eying the entrance back into the jungle behind him.

    He takes a step forward but Bela takes one in the opposite direction, “I know who you are.”

    “I know who _you_ are.”

    Henriksen shakes his head, “So why are you making this so difficult? Why don't you just come back with me?”

    “Going to take me to the station, are you? Lock me up?” she laughs sarcastically. “If you haven't noticed, we are on a deserted island. There is no one who can help you now.”

    “I'm not the one who needs help.”

    She scoffs, “Do not presume to know who I am. Just because you read some case file and saw my picture on the television, you do _not_ know me.”

    Henriksen takes another step, the grass and twigs crunching beneath his shoes. He softens his expression and keeps his hands out as if it might actually help.

    “I know more than you think...Abby.”

    At the sound of that name, Bela's body goes numb starting from her hands to her toes. She releases the tension in her clenched fists and suddenly, her eyes burn with what feels like tears.

    “Don't you dare.”

    “I don't want to hurt you. We can go back to the beach with everyone else. They have have food and they're making shelter. I don't want to hurt you, but if you try to run away again, I'll have to shoot you.”

    Bela looks him over and smirks, “You'll shoot me?”

    “I will if I have to,” Henriksen shrugs.

    “You can't shoot me if you don't have a gun,” she eyes him, clearly pleased with herself.

    When he reaches for the gun at his hip, Henriksen's expression fades and he looks up, terribly confused and alarmed. The gun is missing from his holster.

    “Hand it over, Abby.”

    Bela lifts a brow and shakes her head. She holds out her arms extended on either side of her, “I don't have it...unfortunately. It looks like you are unprepared, Officer Henriksen.”

    His jaw tightens, but he is able to maintain a mostly composed facade now.

    “Where's the gun? I know you know where it is.”

    She places her hands at her hips, “I really don't.”

    “Yet for some reason, you're still running. You know, you don't have to run anymore. No one's chasing you.”

    “Says the man who followed me through the jungle.”

    Henriksen purses his lips together and lets out a long exhale. He lowers his gaze to the ground and runs a hand over his face, “He's dead.”

    Bela cocks her head to the side, dumbfounded, “Excuse me?”

    “Wilson Hammel. Your boss. He was found dead by the LAPD yesterday. Or at least, I think it was yesterday. The day before the flight, his body washed up on the eleventh street docks.”

    “You...” she takes a few steps back, involuntarily moving as her body becomes even more numb than before. “You're lying.”

    “You can think that if you want, but I came after you for one reason: to grant you your freedom. I know why you did it. I understand, in fact, given the circumstances, I would've done the same thing.”

    Bela's legs shake from beneath her and her voice cracks, “You're just trying to – ”

    “Trying to what? Like you said, I don't have my station. I don't have my gun. I just wanted to tell you the truth with the hope that maybe you'll come back to the beach where it's safe. If you don't want to...you don't have to.”

 

    **Frantically racing through her apartment, Bela tosses handfuls of clothes into an expensive suitcase. She fills it until it won't close and even then, she tries to fit more inside. At the sink, she snatches up a pearl white bottle of perfume and some lipstick and stuffs them into a little makeup bag that matches her main suitcase.**

**Beside a Macbook sitting on the bar counter is a paper shredder, currently humming and slicing files into little stringy bits and dropping them into a small bin underneath. Bela goes to the computer and clicks some keys, bringing up several windows. She narrows her eyes as she looks over each page.**

**Chase**

**Account number: 1238651                    Checking status: $00.00**

**Key Bank**

**Account number: 4299877                    Checking status: $00.00**

**SunTrust**

**Account number: 1008650                    Checking status: $00.00**

 

**It goes on and on. Each account is completely empty.**

**Bela stands up straight, glaring at the rows of zeros for each credit card. She thinks about picking the computer up in her hands and smashing on the floor. Or beating it into pieces with the pewter vase next to her. She thinks about destroying the computer until it's nothing but trash. Yet, she doesn't because it won't do any good.**

**“You bastard,” she says under her breath.**

**The last of the files have finished shredding and Bela kicks the bin over, sending the bits of paper in a mess on the floor. She pulls a sticky-note from the refrigerator and grabs a pen, quickly scribbling something.**

**Mina jumps up onto the counter and Bela stops writing to look down at the cat. It meows at her and Bela smiles warily, bending down to kiss her on the top of the head.**

**“Be good now, sweet girl.”**

**She runs her hand down the cat's back and then turns away to pick up her bag. Bela gives the apartment one more long glance.**

**_Keep running. Don't ever stop running._**

**Not even ten minutes pass before the front door to the apartment is burst open, breaking it off its hinges. A small team of police enter cautiously but quick, guns held tightly in their hands, ready to shoot.**

**“Check every corner,” one of them says and three officers start searching.**

**At the front of the team, Victor Henriksen holds his handgun at the ready and approaches the MacBook sitting on the counter-top. He squints and lowers his gun as he gets a better look.**

**The bank pages are all open on the desktop displaying the empty accounts. In the middle of the screen is a sticky-note that reads, “Good job, boys.”**

**Henriksen tips his head to the side, brow furrowing in uncertainty, “Huh...”**

 

    Back at the beach, as the sun sets overhead and the stars blink to life, Henriksen sits at a small fire at the edge of the jungle. Several others are close by, quietly keeping to themselves. Ash comes over carrying a box of cereal and sits down a few feet away from him. He chews loudly on some Cheerios and Henriksen looks up from the fire to lean over in his direction.

    “Have enough to spare?”

    Ash smiles and hands over the open box, “Go right ahead, man.”

    Henriksen smiles appreciatively, “Thanks.”

    “We're probably gonna have to start huntin' and gatherin' pretty soon here,” Ash says after a moment. “If we don't get rescued.”

    Henriksen nods, taking a handful of cereal and stuffing it in his mouth. After not eating for hours, the littlest bit of food could pass as gourmet as far as he's concerned.

    Ash continues talking, saying something about survival video games and bomb shelters, while Henriksen lets his gaze wander to the edge of the jungle.

    Standing leaned against a palm tree, Bela looks out on the ocean. Her hair blows in the cool breeze. He watches her for a minute until she turns and catches his glance. They look each other in the eyes and slowly, Henriksen smiles. She doesn't smile in return, instead she turns back to the ocean and continues listening to the waves.


	6. Competition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kevin doesn't seem to fit in; not back home or on the island.

    Sunlight bakes down on the sand as the survivors gather up what they can from the beach. One group is moving the leftover debris from the fuselage, salvaging what is functional to build from, and tossing the rest in a pile away from camp. Another small group is searching the plane's broken cabin for any and all supplies. Clothing, toiletries, food; anything is good as of right now. Dean is trying to find fresh water for Sam who's talking now, but still not ready to get up and walk around. The painkillers are helpful as ever.

    Kevin; however, is halfway up a tree at the entrance to the jungle. Granted, it's a short tree with depressions and cavities in the trunk so he can get some good footing, but any wrong move could send him falling flat on the ground.

    Inching up the trunk, legs on either side like he's riding a very stubborn horse, Kevin extends his arm out as far as he can while keeping his balance with the other hand. Past the wide green leaves up top is a bushel of yellow fruit. Possibly mangos or something similar. The entire bushel is enough to feed all twelve survivors. Wiggling his fingers and leaning forward even more, he lies his stomach flat onto the trunk, his fingertips brushing the side of one piece of fruit.

    Bobby sees the leaning tree as he's walking out of the jungle and goes to it, grinning when he sees the teenager trying to gather the fruit up top. He stands under the dipping leaves and looks up.

    “You half monkey or somethin'?”

    Kevin perks up at the voice below and suddenly loses his footing and grip at the trunk, slipping down the side and falling a few feet onto the hot sand.

    Bobby takes a step back to avoid being toppled onto, but once Kevin lands, he bends down to make sure the kid is okay.

    “Sorry, boy. You alright?”

    Kevin groans, rubbing his backside, frowning. Yet, better late than never, something snaps up above and the bushel of fruit detaches from the tree, falling to the ground. One hits Kevin on the head and he yelps, reaching up to rub what might end up being a pretty decent sized goose egg later.

    “I'm fine,” he finally answers. The sarcasm in his voice sets Bobby back a little and the older man begins to pick up the pieces of fallen fruit.

    Kevin looks down at the mango that clonked him in the head and sighs, picking it up. The corner of his lips curl up.

    “Why don't you come on over here and take some Advil for that,” Bobby insists, gesturing toward a tarp hanging between two palm trees where Sam is propped up, sleeping.

    Kevin wobbles a little as he stands to his feet, but once he's steady and with the mango in his hand, he looks up at Bobby and tips his head to the side, “We've got Advil?”

    Bobby shrugs, “Found some purses and a couple carry-ons after the crash. Surprisin' amount of meds in there.”

    Kevin nods and they start towards the makeshift medical tent, “Any food in the bags you found?”

    “Not a lot. Mostly snacks, ya know? But we're hopin' to fix that today.”

    “How?”

    They reach the tarp and Bobby places the fruit in a brown bag hanging from a notch in one of the palm trees. Kevin follows suit and drops his in as well. The older man starts to go through a brown purse and pulls out a small bottle of Advil.

    “We're gonna go through the cabin and salvage everythin' we can.”

    Kevin raises his eyebrows and glances at the misshaped, huge piece of the airplane at the edge of the ocean, seats and wires hanging from its split opening.

    “But...aren't there dead bodies in there?”

    Bobby nods, unscrewing the top off the pill bottle and dumping two capsules into his palm before handing them to Kevin, “We're gonna get them out too. The people want a memorial of some sort later tonight.”

    Kevin takes the Advil and smiles in gratitude. He stares at the little blue pills and swallows without anything in his throat. He's not used to taking medicine without water, not to mention the fact that everything is so hot and dry, he can feel the scratchiness at the back of his throat.

    “You gonna take those?” Bobby asks, looking over his shoulder.

    Nodding, Kevin quickly puts the pills in his mouth and swallows them dry, grimacing at the chalky, bitter taste.

    Coming out of the brush with a large bottle of water, Dean approaches the medical tent. He waves at Bobby and Kevin before getting on one knee and tapping Sam on the shoulder. The sleeping man twitches and his eyes flutter as he wakes up.

    “Dean?”

    “Hey, man, drink this,” Dean holds the bottle out to Sam who takes it with a shaky hand and begins to drink.

    Kevin watches Sam, envious of the full bottle of water. He exhales quietly and looks out at the ocean.

    “I'm gonna start roundin' people up. Anyone who wants to help out's welcome,” Bobby looks over the three guys with a hopeful gaze.

    Dean keeps his eyes on Sam and shakes his head, “Gonna stay here.”

    Sam pulls back from the water and grumbles, “You should go, Dean.”

    “Nah, I'm keeping you company 'til we get rescued.”

    Approaching from the other side of the beach, Cas makes eye contact with Bobby and the older man waves him over.

    Kevin turns to face the others as Cas enters the group.

    “How is he?” Cas asks, cocking his head and glancing down at Sam. Dean looks up.

    “Could use some fresh bandages, but he's not too bad.”

    “I'll make sure to bring some back from the cabin,” Cas answers confidently. Dean smiles slightly.

    “Thanks for the water,” Sam smiles at his brother and leans back, letting out a deep breath.

    Bobby and Cas start to head towards the wreckage and Kevin furrows his brow, staring at their backs.

    “Can I come?”

    Bobby turns and shrugs, “The more help, the better.”

    Kevin nods enthusiastically and follows a few steps behind as the two older men talk ahead of him.

 

**Two Weeks Ago**

**A loud bell buzzes overhead. Students pool out of their classrooms and into a narrow high school hallway lined with yellow graffitied lockers. Kevin comes out of a room with a poster that reads “Biology is Fun!” hung over the door frame. He carries a stack of textbooks and binders in his arms, clutched tight to his chest. As he progresses through the halls, couples kiss awkwardly behind locker doors, jocks high-five each other as they cross paths, goths stand in the corner fixing their mascara, and the other students just push through everyone else, trying to get to their next class as fast as they can.**

**With all the different cliques and social groups populating the school, it's clear that Kevin doesn't fit into a single one of them.**

**His short, bowl-cut hair makes him look like a fourth grader. The fact that his white polo is a size too big means he has to tuck it into his khaki pants, which are unfortunately from last year and rise up, showing his ankles and white socks. His pockets are full of pens and a T3 calculator for Advanced Calculus.**

**Kevin makes his way through the halls, head down. A group of kids see him and snigger. One tall boy emerges out in front of him and stops Kevin in his tracks.**

**“Excuse me...” Kevin says quietly, not looking at the boy directly.**

**“Hey, you're good at History, right?”**

**Kevin shrugs, looking past the boy's shoulders, trying to pass him, “I guess so. I got an A.”**

**“Sweet. So if I wanted you to write my Watergate paper, would you do it?”**

**Kevin looks up and nods quickly, “Yeah, I guess.”**

**The other guy's eyes widen and he starts to laugh, “For real?”**

**“Sure.”**

**He laughs harder and his friends join in before he gives Kevin a slap on the arm, “I was kidding...loser.”**

**Sucking in a deep breath, Kevin does his best to ignore the jerks and he pushes past them as they continue laughing.**

**Almost late to his next class, Kevin runs through the door and slides into his seat at the front left side of the room. The second bell rings and he exhales the breath he had been holding in. Relief.**

**The teacher begins handing back the exams from last week. Kevin sits up straight, hands folded at his desk, awaiting the results. When Mr. Frank comes by, he sets the paper down on Kevin's desk, face down. He leans over and makes eye contact.**

**“Let's talk after class.”**

**Suddenly, Kevin's chest tightens with anxiety. His stomach churns and it feels like he might vomit. Failure. If there's one thing he fears the most, it's failure.**

**With a shaky hand, he lifts the exam and flips it over.**

**100/100.**

**His jaw drops a little. He squints and holds the paper up close to his eyes. It's definitely a passing grade. Definitely a one-hundred percent. Then why would Mr. Frank need to speak with him? Kevin wipes his brow as if he were sweating and files the exam away in his folder.**

**“Today I'm introducing the topic of...” Mr Frank begins the lesson and Kevin's attention has never been better.**

**Class goes by faster than normal, most likely because he can't wait for it to end. Once all the other students have made their way out the door, Kevin's the only one left. He smiles and walks to the front of the room by the teacher's desk.**

**“So, what did you want to talk to me about?” he asks abruptly as Mr. Frank finishes erasing everything from the chalkboard.**

**“Ah, Kevin. Astounding work on last week's test.”**

**Kevin nods enthusiastically, “Thank you very much.”**

**“You know, in twelve years of teaching, no one has ever gotten question 16.”**

**“Really?”**

**“Really,” Mr. Frank smiles. “Which brings me to wonder how you figured it out.”**

**Shrugging, Kevin makes a face, “I don't know, I just did the calculations and solved it.”**

**Mr. Frank thinks about it for a moment before going to his desk and opening the top drawer. He pulls out a brochure and holds it out.**

**“Have you ever considered doing tournaments?”**

**Kevin stares at the brochure, uncertain what his teacher is really getting at, “I'm not really into competitions.”**

**“But maybe you just haven't found anything worth competing for.”**

**“I'm sorry, I don't really understand.”**

**“Take this,” he places the brochure in Kevin's hands. “There's an annual Mathlete tournament in Honolulu taking place two weeks from now. Students from all over compete for the chance to get into the championships. It's only a five hour plane ride and the school would pay for the expenses.”**

**Kevin shakes his head, staring down at the brochure. He sets it back down on the teacher's desk.**

**“I don't know. I'd have to run it by my mom first – ”**

**“The reward is a scholarship to any university of your choice.”**

**Silence. Mr. Frank looks up at Kevin's expression and slides the paper back in his direction.**

**“Just think about it.”**

 

    Stepping over the second half of a broken airplane seat, Kevin follows behind a group of guys entering the dark cabin. Oxygen masks and wires hang loosely overhead on the parts of the ceiling that still remain attached. Bobby, Cas and Ash all have flashlights. Kevin didn't get one.

    “What exactly are we looking for?” he asks, bending over to see what's under some of the seats.

    “Anythin' that'll come in handy. Medical supplies, food, fresh clothes,” Bobby reaches up to an overhead compartment and flicks open the lock. The door pops out and a heavy duffle-bag falls down into his arms. “Purses, carry-ons, anythin' like that's good pickin's.”

    Kevin nods, “Got it.”

    He sticks his arm under a seat and moves it around, unable to see what's under there. He grabs hold of something and pulls it forward. It's a small bag. He opens the zipper and starts rummaging inside. There's an iPod with headphones, a wallet, chapstick, receipts and a granola bar.

    “Sweet!” he starts to rip open the package when Cas leans over and stops him.

    “Don't eat it.”

    “Why not?” he frowns.

    “We have to save all the food we find and divide it up. That way everyone gets something to eat.”

    Kevin sighs and puts the bar into the purse and zips it back up.

    Ash shines his flashlight on them, “I'm gonna check out what's up front. Might have some good stuff closer to the bathrooms.”

    Bobby nods, “Get all the toilet paper you can find.”

    “Will do,” Ash grabs a bag partially-filled with makeup and underwear and heads to the front of the cabin.

    “Thank God for prescriptions,” Cas says as he opens a purse and pulls out a handful of orange canisters.

    “Whatcha got there?” Bobby takes a few steps closer.

    “Oxycodone, Azithro...Azithromycin, and Amoxicillin,” Cas replies as he stumbles over the words.

    “Great, those'll be useful just in case.”

    Kevin proceeds down the row of seats and bends over again, continuing to check the contents below. He sticks his hand under the middle seat and this time, moves it around more. “What the – ?” He pulls on something heavy and drags it part of the way out. “Hey, guys?”

    Cas shines his flashlight on him, “What did you find?”

    “Can you come here, please?” he takes step back.

    Stepping over a cart that had been tipped over, Cas comes to Kevin and looks down, turning his light to the floor. Kevin's eyes widen and he backs up some more.

    “Oh...” Cas sighs. They both stare at the dead body on the floor.

    “He's dead, isn't he?”

    Nodding, Cas bends down and closes the man's eyes, “Yes, he's dead.” He pulls the dead man by his shoulders, grunting at the weight. Kevin takes the bag he found and goes into the aisle, giving Cas some room.

    Bobby continues to sort through luggage, picking out clothes and putting them in one bag, then putting hygienic products in another. He has a very small pile of food.

    Suddenly, they hear a yell from the front of the cabin and everyone stops what they're doing. Cas sets the body down and looks up towards the bathrooms.

    “Ash?” Bobby starts moving closer to the sound.

    Coming out from behind a corner past the bathrooms, Ash bolts towards them. He's waving his arms in front of him, face stricken with panic.

    “Run!”

    Bobby furrows his brow and leans into the aisle to try and make out what's happening. Ash runs past him. Just then, a loud grunting noise comes from the front of the cabin.

    Kevin's eyes widen and he back into an empty seat.

    “The fuck did I just say? Run!” Ash looks back at them, wondering why they aren't listening.

    “What the hell is that?” Bobby cocks his head to the side.

    “It's a damn crazy pig!” Ash turns away fast and runs to the exit, leaving everyone else behind.

    Cas moves in front of Kevin and extends his arm as if to protect him.

    Without warning, a large boar comes stampeding down the aisle of the plane, grunting and snorting as it picks up pace.

   

    **Standing in front of his locker at the end of the day, Kevin stares at his books lying neatly against each other inside. He pulls his backpack off his shoulder and unzips it, then begins to place each textbook and binder into his bag. Other students walk and talk around him. They hug and laugh and talk so loud that anyone around them can hear their conversations.**

**Kevin fills his backpack and zips it up. As he's about to shut his locker, he looks down and sees the brochure Mr. Frank gave him. “ _Annual West Coast Calculus Contest: Where Great Minds Compete for Victory, Merit and Respect._ ”**

**Suddenly, there's a tap on Kevin's shoulder and he turns around quickly. To his surprise, a girl is standing there, smiling at him. She has long black hair and shiny pink lipgloss.**

**“Hi, are you Kevin?”**

**Blinking several times to make sure she's real, Kevin swallows heavily and stumbles on his words, “Um, yes, that's me. I'm Kevin.”**

**He holds out his hand awkwardly and she looks down at it. She giggles and after a moment, takes his hand and shakes.**

**“I'm Channing,” she lets go and brings her hand back to her side.**

**“Nice to meet you,” Kevin smiles wide, trying not to act like a loser. “Soooo, what's up?”**

**Channing grins and looks down at the floor. The whole time, Kevin's just wondering why someone so pretty is talking to him in the first place.**

**“Well, Homecoming's in two weeks...”**

**Kevin raises an eyebrow, “Is it? I never really keep track of those things.”**

**“Oh, well, I was wondering if you're going with anybody?”**

**“Me? N-no I'm not...are you asking me to go to the dance with you?”**

**She nods.**

**He takes a step back and runs into his locker door. It hits him in the back and he pretends it didn't just hurt. Turning behind him, Kevin goes to shut the door, when he sees the brochure again. He stares at it for a long moment.**

**“Listen...” he begins, shutting his locker and turning back to face Channing. “I'm sure we would have a lot of fun. And I'm sure you're a really cool girl, but I kind of have something else going on that weekend. I'm sorry.”**

**Channing's expression fades and she looks away, “It's alright. I'll find someone else to go with.”**

**She turns the other way and slowly makes her way down the hall. Kevin thinks about catching up with her. They could go to the movies, maybe have dinner. They can do anything, as long as it's not that weekend.**

**Just as he decides he should follow her, Channing's already gone. That sharp tinge of failure hits him in the chest and Kevin realizes it's time to go home.**

 

    Bobby grabs as many bags as he can fit over his shoulders and starts towards the exit of the plane. Cas takes the bag of medicine and makes a run for it as well, the boar coming straight at him.

    The flashlights bounce light all throughout the cabin, making it hard to see the boar completely. What seems clear, however, is the blood covering its mouth and fur.

    The boar grunts again and Kevin falls down on his ass, watching the animal run past. Cas and Bobby hurry out of the plane, the boar straight behind. Ash is still panicking outside.

    Kevin gets on his knees and starts to crawl across the aisle. One of the men yells from outside, “Get something to hit it with!” and Kevin swallows nervously, his throat scratchy and dry.

    Out of the corner of his eye, he sees something shiny on the cabin floor. He crawls closer, unable to make out the object in the shadows from far away. It becomes clearer as he leans down and looks under the seat. Kevin's eyes widen and he exhales a long, deep breath.

    Picking it up, he slowly staggers to his feet. The calls of everyone outside gradually fade away as he gets closer. Bright, blinding sunlight hits him in the face when he reaches the sand and steps down from the wreckage.

    In front of him, Ash and Cas attempt to pry the boar off of Bobby who's on the ground fighting with the animal, gripping it by its pointed, bloody tusks. More survivors come over to see what's happening and gasp. Dean runs forward to try and help.

    Kevin doesn't hear a thing. He just extends his arm and points it at the animal.

    A loud, bang rings out.

    The boar collapses on Bobby's chest, blood now pooling from its back. Ash, Cas and Dean take a step back, eyes now fixed on Kevin. Everyone else follows suit, staring in shock.

    Bobby pushes the heavy animal off him and into the sand before pulling himself up onto his feet. He shakes his head and glares angrily at Kevin.

    “You coulda killed me, boy.”

    The sense of sound comes back and Kevin opens his mouth to respond. Nothing comes out. He grips the handgun tightly in his sweaty fingers and brings it down to his side.

    “Give me the gun, Kevin...” Cas takes a few steps forward, gingerly shuffling through the sand.

    The teenager looks at Cas and nods. He holds out the weapon and graciously hands it over. Cas takes it clicks on the safety, then glances over at Dean.

    “What the hell were you thinkin'?” Bobby approaches Kevin, realizing the boy's in shock just as much as everyone else is.

    “It was hurting you...”

    The older man sighs loudly and shakes his head once again, “And how did you just happen to come across a police gun?”

    Kevin shrugs his shoulders and looks innocently up at Bobby, “I just found it.”

    Cas holds the gun close, careful not to point it at anyone, “Everyone, just go back to what you were doing. We'll sort this out.”

    The other survivors begin to dissipate from the scene, some looking back at the dead boar and at Kevin and Bobby.

    Putting his hand on Kevin's shoulder, Bobby gives him a little pat. He looks just like a disappointed and worried father.

    “How'd you know you wouldn't miss, hm?” Bobby raises an eyebrow and begins leading Kevin away from the carcass.

    The teenager thinks for a moment and grins slightly, “I play a lot of Halo.”

 

    Night falls upon the beach once again. It's been two days since they crashed and still, no rescue team, no boats in the ocean, not even a single bar on anyone's cellphones. But no one's given up yet. The bonfire continues to burn, sending a large stream of smoke into the sky to warn anyone who might be near.

    Speared over a smaller fire pit is fresh, roasted boar meat. The castaways sit in an uneven circle around the fire, covered in airline blankets recovered from the cabin. They eat their dinner and talk amongst themselves.

    In separate piles at the jungle's edge are pillows, a couple suitcases full of clothes and a case full of electronic devices. Bobby has the medical bag, now very full, at his tent where Sam and Dean sit eating their dinner. Cas approaches them, carrying an armful of blankets and bandages. The three begin to talk.

    Pamela and Jo are going through the pile of clothes and Bela steps out from a dark part of the jungle near them, wearing a clean outfit. She runs her hands through her hair and heads toward Victor sitting close to the fire. He has a plate of meat set aside for her.

    Andy and Ash joke around while passing a cigarette from one to the other. They have the iPod and trade musical knowledge between themselves.

    Off to the side, looking out on the ocean, is Ellen. She glances up and smiles at her daughter when Jo comes over with a plate of food.

    Then there's Kevin, who sits by himself on the other side of the fire. He has a plate of food in front of him but hasn't touched it at all. Leaning back on his elbows, he pulls out a folded up piece of paper. It's the brochure from the math competition. Kevin holds it up and reads the title once again. _Victory, Merit and Respect._

    He tosses the paper into the fire and watches as the corners ignite, spreading flames across the words and pictures until they're unreadable. Once the brochure is burned completely, Kevin leans all the way back on a pillow and closes his eyes.


	7. Pockets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andy struggles with life's hardships.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains **heavy drug use/abuse**. Most Andy chapters will from this point on.

     The hot morning sun radiates down on the cluttered beach. Waves lap up onto the sand and pull back, glistening like diamonds in the deep blue water. A group of castaways sits in a circle, sorting through baggage, setting things aside.

    Pamela and Jo have suitcases on their laps. Ash is humming to himself as he fingers through folded clothes. He makes a face as he pulls out a pair of men's underwear.

    “Those'll come in handy,” Pamela says, gesturing towards the undergarment.

    Ash shakes his head and stuffs the Fruit of the Looms into the bottom of the bag, “Ain't my size.”

    Jo and Pam smile and giggle to themselves.

    Andy is rummaging through a black leather duffle-bag, pulling out some mix tapes and tossing them into a pile. His forehead is scrunched up as if he's concentrating really hard on something important. Frantically, he continues taking things out of the bag, clearly not finding what he's looking for.

    Ash glances over and raises an eyebrow, “Dude, is that your bag?”

    Andy nods but doesn't reply.

    “Lucky. I couldn't find mine,” Ash shrugs disappointedly and goes back to his task.

    With almost everything thrown out of the duffle-bag and littered around like debris, Andy stuffs almost his entire arm into the bag, eyes narrowed. His expression softens and eyes widen as he wraps his fingers around something and pulls it out. In his palm, a small plastic bag filled with a chalky white substance sparkles in the sunlight.

 

**One Week Ago**

**Loud thumps and beats of music emanate from a big black van parked on the side of a city street. Inside, Bob Marley's voice shakes the speakers and creates little fizzles of static, a sign that the volume is pushed all the way to the max. Plastic bags and other junk fill the van along with a sleeping bag with stains on the front. This is someone's home.**

**A hot plate with a long white cord is plugged into the cigarette lighter below the dash. Andy, wearing the same black hoodie he always wears, is hunched over the burner with a spoon full of liquefying white paste. His eyes have dark circles around them, his hair is greasy and unkept. He bobs his head back and forth to the music as the liquid begins to bubble.**

**“Ooooh every little thing is gonna be alright, yeeeeah,” Andy sings along to the music, his words and Bob Marley's not quite matching up.**

**Pulling a small needle and syringe from a plastic pencil case, Andy fills it up. He lifts his sleeve, revealing little scars and bruises and places the tip of the needle against his skin. Closing his eyes, Andy lets the music wash over him as he leans back against some empty Coca-Cola cans.**

**Suddenly, a small battery operated digital clock begins to beep. Andy's eyes open slowly, fluttering a little. He stares at the clock, its alarm barely audible over the sound of the music blaring throughout the van. Reaching forward and knocking his leg into the hotplate, he shuts off the music and hits the top of the clock, abruptly silencing the alarm.**

**With a delayed reaction, Andy looks down at his leg. The fabric of his pants is slightly melted thanks to the hotplate. He unplugs that as well before unzipping his hoodie and folding it in a very small pile of clothes.**

**Bursting out from the back of the van in his red work uniform, Andy adjusts his name tag which reads “ANDY” with the letters stuck on unevenly. He stumbles onto the pavement and shuts the door behind him. Fumbling with his keys, trying to get a hold of the one for his van despite there only being two keys on the ring, he eventually gets it and locks the door.**

**Down the block from where he parked is an Arby's. Andy walks in the side door and wipes his bangs from his eyes. He staggers to an old boxy computer to punch himself in when a tall, bulky man approaches him from behind.**

**“Gallagher, what the hell do you think you're doing?”**

**Andy turns around slowly with a half-toothy smile on his face, “Clocking in, dude.”**

**The manager shakes his head and put a hand on Andy's shoulder, leading him away from the computer. “This has got to stop.”**

**“C'mon, I'm only ten minutes late this time. Least I'm here, right?” he chuckles.**

**“No, kid, that's not what I'm talking about. I've had workers with worse attendance than you before. I'm talking about this.” He takes Andy's right arm and holds it out. Andy looks down at the marks innocently.**

**“I got attacked by a chihuahua.”**

**The manager rolls his eyes, “I'm sick of excuses. You're always tired and spaced out at work. You get this look in your eyes like everyone's a sandwich.”**

**“To be fair, man, I make a lotta roast beef during the day,” Andy smirks.**

**The manager drops his arm back to Andy's side, “Gallagher, I have to let you go.”**

**Andy shakes his head and holds out his hands to protest, “Now that's not necessary, dude, just give me a second chance.”**

**“You're out of second chances, kid. Just pick up your last check and leave the uniform on my desk” the manager looks Andy over and sighs. “...On second thought, keep the uniform.”**

**He leaves Andy standing in the back room.**

   

    Staring down at the little bag in his hand, a smile spreads across Andy's face. He brings the bag up to his mouth and kisses it before shoving it into the side pocket of his hoodie.

    “Look at this,” Jo holds up a little bottle of expensive looking perfume. Pam leans over to see. They give it a spray and then arch back, plugging their noses and laughing.

    “Smells like piss!” Pam remarks.

    Jo tips the bottle upside down and reads the label at the bottom. “Two-hundred and sixty dollars? Who would spend that much money on something like this?” She extends her arm back and prepares to toss the bottle across the beach but Pam stops her.

    “Wait, let's empty it out. We could use the bottle for something.”

    Jo shrugs and throws it into the sand next to where Pam's sitting, “Have at it.”

    Ash glances over at Andy again. He watches him for a moment and stands to his feet, “Hey, wanna go for a walk?”

    Andy opens his mouth to reply, but can't seem to make up his mind.

    “C'mon, it's too hot out in the sun.”

    Nodding in agreement, Andy staggers to his feet and Ash help him up by the elbow.

    “Thanks, dude.”

    “No problem. Need a chance to get away from these ladies anyway,” Ash grins down at the women.

    Jo hears him and looks up. She takes a handful of sand and throws it at Ash's feet. He kicks some back at her before heading towards the woods with Andy.

    On the other side of the medical station, Sam is doing pushups. He's shirtless and the bandage around his torso looks clean and blood-free.

    “Captain America bounced back pretty quick, huh?” Ash gestures to the younger Winchester brother.

    Andy nods, “That Bobby guy really knows what he's doing, I guess.”

    “You learn a lot from war, I guess.”

    “You ever been?”

    Ash shrugs, “Nah, just seen Apocalypse Now 'bout seventy times.”

    They both smile and continue walking.

    In a large open spot underneath some palm trees, about twelve bodies lie in straight lines with fabric covering their faces. Coming from the fuselage debris, Cas and Dean carry a body to the others. Cas has the feet and Dean has the shoulders. They place the figure gently down beside another. Bobby stands off to the side with a stapled packet of papers. It's the plane's manifest. As Cas and Dean place the bodies down, Bobby records who he thinks they might have been based on the details on the files.

    “You think he's ever killed anyone?” Andy asks out of the blue.

    “Bobby?” Ash lifts a brow, “He was a medic, man.”

    “Oh...yeah.”

    The guys continue walking and Andy's gaze lingers a little on the covered bodies. Ash sees out of the corner of his eye and cocks his head to the side.

    “Anyone you know?”

    Andy shakes his head, “Nope. I was traveling alone.”

    “Same. Don't really got a family or nothin'.”

    “We've got something in common then.”

    As they keep walking along the outskirts of the woods, they see Kevin curled up in a blanket next to a large boulder. He's snoring softly.

    They smile.

    “Poor little guy. Bet his family's waitin' for him, worried sick back home,” Ash remarks, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a crumpled pack of Marlboros. He sticks a cigarette in his mouth and tries to ignite it with a little green lighter. Despite how much he clicks the top with his thumb, nothing but sparks come out.

    Andy sticks a hand in his pocket, “Here, mine works.” He hands a shiny silver Zippo over to Ash who takes it graciously. With one click the cigarette lights immediately.

    Ash sucks in a deep inhale of smoke, “Thanks.”

    “No problem, dude.”

    Grabbing another cigarette from his pack, Ash lights it on the tip of his own and offers it to Andy.

    “Oh, you don't have to do that. You've only got five left.”

    Ash shakes his head and insists, “Nah, take it. I'm supposed to be quittin' anyway.”

    Andy smiles and takes the cigarette between two fingers.

 

    **Standing on a covered porch as rain pours down outside, Andy, soaking wet, knocks on the front door. He holds himself and shakes in the cold, sniffling.**

**An older woman pokes her head in the window and immediately runs to open the door. She holds out her arms.**

**“Andy, sweetheart, what are you doing here?”**

**Andy smiles and hurries inside, dripping rainwater onto the fancy hardwood floor. “Hey, mom.”**

**“James, look who's here!” the woman calls into the other room with a thick Jewish accent.**

**A man about the same age slowly makes his way into the living room. He nods curtly at Andy. “Hello, Andrew.”**

**Andy waves a hand covered in the sleeve of his wet hoodie.**

**The woman quickly runs to the sofa and pulls a red, fuzzy blanket from where it had been folded over the top. She wraps it around Andy's shoulders and kisses him once on each cheek.**

**“You look terrible.”**

**Andy takes both ends of the blanket, pulling it tighter around his body, “It's raining out.”**

**“You look so tired.”**

**He shrugs.**

**The older man takes a few steps closer and folds his arms on his chest, “Looks like he's been doing those damn drugs again.”**

**Andy averts his eyes to the floor.**

**“I'll go put on a cup of coffee,” the woman says and makes her way to the kitchen.**

**Awkwardly, Andy walks over to the sofa. His father watches him carefully as he's about to sit down.**

**“Just had the upholstery cleaned.”**

**“Looks nice,” Andy replies. “Extra soft.”**

**He hesitates before sitting down. His father sits across from him in a rocking chair. They stare for a long moment.**

**“You still with that girl? What was her name, Ava?”**

**Andy twiddles his thumbs, “No. We uh...we broke up a few months ago.”**

**“That's a shame. I liked her. She was good for you.”**

**Andy's mother returns with a steaming mug of coffee. Andy holds out his hands and takes it with a smile on his face.**

**“Thanks, mom.”**

**She sits down beside him on the couch and puts a hand on his shoulder, “Now, sweetheart, is there something wrong? What are you doing here?”**

**Andy takes a sip of the hot coffee. He swallows and clears his throat, “I need some help.”**

**His father shakes his head and frowns, “We're not giving you anymore money.”**

**“I was let go from work...”**

**His mother covers her mouth and gasps softly, “Again?”**

**Suddenly, the old man stands up from his seat. He puts his foot down, “No. No more money. No more helping you out when you get fired from a job. You've got to learn how to get by on your own just like everyone else.”**

**“James...”**

**Andy sets the coffee down and gets up slowly. He begins wringing his hands, “Sorry. I shouldn't have come.”**

**He makes his way to the door and the old man goes after him.**

**“Don't you come back here until you're on your feet!”**

**Andy's mother quickly rushes to the kitchen. She comes back with a paper bag and puts it in Andy's arms.**

**“Get out of here!” Andy's father sneers and waves his arms, shooing him out the door.**

 

    The twelve castaways stand huddled in a circle, all facing the bodies in the sand. Many of them spent the day shoveling out a large pit in the ground using branches and debris as digging tools.

    Ellen has an arm around Jo and holds her tightly. She looks as if she may cry. Bobby steps forward with the manifest.

    “Thank you all for bein' a part of this. I know most of us never actually met those bein' laid to rest today, but they deserve whatever kinda funeral we can give 'em.”

    Sam and Dean stand beside each other and stare into the deep grave in the ground.

    “I ain't too sure the best way to do this,” Bobby looks down at the covered bodies. “We could read off the names and say a few words...”

    Pamela takes a few steps closer with her arms around herself. “I'd like to say something for my coworkers, if you don't mind.”

    Bobby nods and opens up a space for her to stand.

    Victor looks behind him at Bela who's standing off to the side, her foot tapping in the sand as if she has somewhere else to be. He frowns and shakes his head at her. She catches him watching her and rolls her eyes. She stops tapping her foot and comes up beside him, letting out a sigh.

    “These were good people,” Pamela begins. “I didn't know them for very long, but in the few times we had together up in the sky, they were so welcoming and kind to me. Dave, the pilot, he always had a smile on his face. And the other stewardesses, Erica and Betty, well, they took me right under their wings when I first started. They didn't have to, but they did because they didn't want me to have a rough time.”

    She closes her eyes and takes a breath. Kneeling down on the ground, Pamela scoops up and handful of sand and lets it empty into the grave.

    After a moment or two of silence, Jo breaks away from her mother and shakily moves towards the center of the group.

    “I-I want to say something,” she tries not to choke up. Ellen extends her hand to stop her, but Bobby nods approvingly.

    “Let her go,” he puts a hand on Ellen's shoulder and she stands down.

    “My dad was in the back of the plane when it...” Jo wipes a stray tear from her cheek and inhales a breath. “I miss him.”

    Ellen remains composed, her shoulders and face tense as not to show the emotions she's feeling inside.

    The feelings are too much for her and Jo falls to her knees, almost toppling over the edge into the deep pit of bodies. Ellen is too late to react, but Ash comes to Jo's side, holding her shoulders back so she doesn't fall forward anymore.

    “Careful...” he says quietly.

    “I don't wanna be careful. I don't wanna be here,” Jo's voice elevates in volume and she pounds her fist on the sand like a child throwing a fit. “Why are we here and he isn't? Why did we get to live and he – ”

    “Jo, sweetheart, let's go for a walk,” her mom interrupts.

    Ellen gets down on her knees and nods nervously at Ash, taking his place at Jo's side. She lifts her daughter up and walks her carefully to the back of the group.

    The rest of the castaways look at the ground awkwardly waiting for someone to say something else.

    Cas steps forth with a handful of wallets. He pulls out a small sized family photo of a man, his wife and two young sons.

    “I found some wallets when we were laying them...to rest,” Cas holds out the photograph for everyone to see. “They had families. Some had children. Some were students even.”

    Kevin glances up.

    “I think we should say a prayer for everyone who was lost,” Cas gets down on one knee and gently throws the wallets down into the grave.

    “That's a good idea,” Bobby agrees.

    Just about everyone lowers their heads as Cas starts to lead a prayer. Bela folds her arms at her chest and scoffs quietly. Victor glances over and nudges her in the arm. She shoots him a glare before eventually giving in and lowering her head as well.

    Sam leans a little closer to Dean and whispers in his ear, “What do you think's gonna happen to dad?”

    Dean opens his eyes and raises an eyebrow, “What d'you mean?”

    “If we aren't there to give him a proper funeral...what's gonna happen?”

    Dean shakes his head and pats his brother on the back, “Try not to worry about that, Sammy. Once we get off this island, we'll figure somethin' out.”

    As the prayer wraps up, Andy, with his head still down in prayer, pulls the little bag of heroin from his pocket. He rolls it around in his palm, watching the chalky substance separate, before he hides it away in his hoodie again.

   

    **Rain pours down hard, splashing onto the black pavement of the street as Andy crosses an intersection onto the sidewalk. He hurries into a building and the wind closes the door behind him. A set of bells on the handle jingle noisily, making Andy jump a little and step away from the door. He's soaked from head to toe; his hoodie drooping on his arms, saturated with rainwater.**

**The woman sitting at the front desk stands up and scans his wet form. She lifts a brow.**

**“Can I help you?”**

**Andy rubs his clammy hands together and breathes on them a couple times. “Yeah, I gotta pick up my mail.”**

**The receptionist turns to a series of PO boxes behind her, “Number?”**

**“221. Andrew Gallagher,” he shivers and notices a little puddle on the floor where he's standing.**

**She opens the mailbox and pulls out a fancy looking manila envelope. “Looks like you got something important.”**

**Andy smiles crookedly, “Really?”**

**He takes the envelope and flips it over on both sides. There's a legal stamp on the back that reads, “Carson and Associates: Attorney at Law.”**

**“This is for me?” Andy questions to himself.**

**The receptionist answers from behind her desk, “It's got your name on it, right? Sometimes the mail guy messes up and puts things in the wrong place.”**

**The front of the envelope has Andy's name on it. He shrugs and sticks his finger beneath the seam, getting it wet and ripping it messily open. Andy reaches inside and pulls out a typed letter.**

_**Dear Mr. Gallagher,** _

_**I regret to inform you that your mother, Holly Beckett, passed away Thursday due to a brain aneurism. As her lawyer, I am contacting you in regards to your mother's last will and testament. In it, Ms. Beckett has stated that all financial accounts, her home and her property go to you in the event of her death. In total, this gives you an estate of seven-hundred and forty thousand dollars, which if not claimed, will be turned over to the state in thirty days. If you would like to claim your mother's inheritance, please come to 85 Palm Ave, Honolulu, Hawaii by next Friday so we may meet face to face and discuss your options. An airline ticket has been paid for and is included in this letter.** _

_**I look forward to meeting you, and of course, my deepest regrets for your loss.** _

_**Sincerely, Attorney Joseph L. Howard** _

__

**Andy tips the envelope upside down and a smaller blue envelope falls onto the floor. The plane ticket, prepaid.**

**Breathing slowly through his mouth, Andy suddenly begins to wobble. He backs into a chair pushed up against the wall and collapses into it.**

**The receptionist watches him from the corner of her eye.**

**“What the fuck...” he brings the paper close to his face and reads it over again. As his eyes go over each word, suddenly the letters all meld together and eventually Andy can't feel his feet or his hands and he lets the letter fall to the wet floor. His eyes flutter shut and his head drops back, hitting the wall with a thud. The receptionist jumps out out her seat and runs to his aide.**

 

**Andy wakes up in a hospital bed, his head pounding and eyelids sticking together with goo. A machine beeps next to him and as he looks down, he sees an IV and some other wires hooked up to his arm.**

**“Dude...”**

**“Andy?” his mother perks up and pats on his hand from where she's sitting beside him.**

**He turns his head groggily to face her.**

**“Oh, sweetheart, I was so worried when I got the call,” she leans forward and kisses him on the forehead. Andy's expression remains blank. “The doctor said you could have overdosed with the amount of heroin in your blood. You were hypothermic and unconscious when they finally got to you. Sweetheart, this has to stop – ”**

**“Mom?” he butts in.**

**She blinks at the interruption and cocks her head to the side, “What is it?”**

**“Why didn't you tell me I was adopted?”**

**Suddenly, her expression diminishes to one of defeat. She lowers her eyes. “I...”**

**“I'm almost twenty-four. Why would you keep that from me?”**

**A nurse knocks on the doorframe and walks in with a chart.**

**“Time for your vitals,” she goes to his bedside and glances at Mrs. Gallagher who now has tears in her eyes. “Are you family?”**

**Andy looks in the woman's eyes, the woman who raised him from infancy and took care of him through thick and thin. The woman who even now, holds his hand despite the mistakes he's made.**

**He turns to the nurse and nods, “It's okay. She's my mother.”**

 

    Dean, Cas, Ash and Victor, all with makeshift shovels, fill the deep grave with sand, covering the bodies until there's a small mound of fresh ground on top. A fire burns in its usual spot where Bobby instructs Kevin how to tend to Sam's bandage and wound. Pamela approaches Jo and Ellen on the shore and offers them some freshly cut mango. Ellen pats a spot beside her and gestures for Pamela to sit down.

    Everyone seems to be busy. Everyone, even Bela, has someone to talk to.

    Under a palm tree, far off from the rest of the group but still close enough to see the fire, Andy sits with his legs folded beneath him. He tosses the little plastic baggie full of drugs between his hands.

    Laughter comes from some of the castaways off by the shore and Andy looks down at his fingers, pretending not to notice that people are actually having fun right now. He stares at the bag for a moment, eyeing every little crease in the plastic, the grains of white powder, the bumps in the zipper.

    Exhaling shakily, Andy opens up the bag and tips it upside down on the grass beside him. The powder falls like heavy rain onto the ground. He shakes his hand to get the last little bits out of the corners.

    With the heel of his foot, Andy rubs the substance into the dirt until it's invisible to the naked eye. Staring back at the baggie, he holds it up to the light across the beach. A little bit of powder is left over on the sides. Closing his eyes, he licks the tip of his pointer finger and dips it into the bag. Andy opens his eyes and sees some little white bits that adhere to his wet skin. He opens his mouth and sticks out his tongue. Just as he's about to lick his finger, something in his mind changes and Andy lowers his hand, wipes the powder on this leg and flings the bag away from him. He leans back against the tree and stares up at the setting sun over the ocean. The soft orange glow is enough to put him to sleep.  
  



	8. Case File

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All Victor wants to do is help, but everything always gets in his way.

     A sudden splash hits the water's surface on the ocean shore.

    “Sonofabitch...” Dean grumbles, pulling back his makeshift spear from the water. He inspects the pointed end and then looks down into the ocean's bed. Whatever fish that was there before is definitely gone now.

    Glancing out on the vast, beautiful ocean, Dean sighs. He slings the spear, which is nothing more than a sharpened stick, over his shoulder and begins to walk back towards the other castaways at the jungle's edge. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean sees someone dressing behind a large palm tree. The brush and wildlife doesn't do much to hide the person's nude figure and when Dean squints, he realizes immediately that the person changing is actually Cas.

    Eyes widening, he turns away quickly, cheeks suddenly flushing with color. Palms becoming sweaty, Dean gets a better grip on the stick over his shoulder and walks a little faster.

    As he's trying to keep his eyes down at the sand now, someone suddenly approaches at his side, startling him.

    “What?” the words leave Dean's lips before he has a chance to think. Pamela lifts a brow and chuckles under her breath.

    “You okay?”

    Dean nods affirmatively, “Yeah. I'm perfectly fine.”

    “You look a little...”

    “I'm fine. Don't worry about it,” he smiles.

    Pamela shrugs and walks beside him as Dean makes his way to Bobby's supply tent.

    “I just wanted to know if you caught any fish.”

    Dean shakes his head, “Never been the fishin' type, I guess.”

    “Didn't your dad ever take you out?”

    He purses his lips together and stares at the ground, “No, he never did.”

    She opens her mouth to speak again, but Dean interjects, stopping in his tracks and facing her.

    “Listen, Pamela...”

    “Call me Pam.”

    “Pam...”

    “Yeah?”

    “Whatever we had there on the plane...whatever that was, I dunno if we should – ”

    Pamela reaches forward and places both hands on Dean's shoulders. He cranes his neck away a bit.

    “Sweetheart, trust me, I'm no high school girl. My heart's not broken, there are no hard feelings.”

    She gives Dean a little smack on the arm and walks away, leaving him with a blank expression on his face, mouth hung open a little bit.

    As he's just about to go the other way, another person comes up behind Dean and gives him a tap on the shoulder. He jumps and steps back. Victor holds his hands up in surrender and laughs.

    “Didn't mean to startle you.”

    Dean exhales shakily, “Don't people give warning around here?”

    “Sorry, man.” Victor shrugs, “Have you seen Bela?”

    Brow creasing, Dean tips his head to the side, “Who?”

    “Bela. You know, brown hair, thin, really British?”

    “Oh, yeah, Lugosi,” he smiles slightly, “Nah, I haven't seen her. Tends to keep to herself, ya know?”

    Victor nods, “Thanks anyway.”

    They start to separate when Dean turns back, “Hey, if you have time later, wanna help out with the huts?”

    “Huts?”

    “Yeah, we're gonna break apart pieces of the cabin and build housing for people out of whatever we have. Me, Sam, Bobby...”

    “You sure that brother of yours should really be building?”

    Dean makes a face, “What d'you mean?”

    Victor glances over at the tall man sitting by the medical tent. “Has he healed completely?”

    “I can take care of him, don't worry.”

    “Alright, whatever you think,” Victor raises a hand and waves to Dean. “You can count me in.”

    Leaving the beach's shore and venturing into the edge of the jungle, Victor starts searching for Bela. He peeks through some thick trees and greenery, trying to locate a path of some sort, or even a hint that she may have gone a specific way.

    Victor steps over branches and large stones, moving further into the woods and away from the beach. A small, colorful bird flaps its wings and flies off from a low hanging tree, rustling the leaves up above. Victor turns quickly, reaching for the spot on his belt where a gun would be. His fingers pat the leather holster and he sighs, remembering that his gun isn't there.

    Right when he is about to return to his path, a hand comes up behind him and clocks him in the jaw. Victor falls back, unsuspecting of the attack. He's then thrown down onto the ground, hitting it with a thud.

    “Who the – ?”

    Bela digs her heel into the center of his back as Victor slowly wipes some dirt from his mouth.

    “Why do you keep following me?”

    He begins to chuckle and lift himself up from the ground but Bela presses him back down.

    “Easy, easy...” Victor says gently.

    Bela shakes her head, “Answer me. Why are you following me?”

    “I'm not following you, I just wasn't sure where you'd gone off to.”

    “Why do you care about where I go?”

    Victor groans and coughs a little. Bela eases her foot off his back. “I wanted to make sure you were still here – ”

    “You're still not answering my question,” Bela narrows her eyes. “Why? Why do you care?”

    “...you're my responsibility.”

    A moment of silence. Bela removes her foot completely and turns her back to him as Victor staggers to his knees.

    “I'm your fugitive, is that it? You're keeping an eye on me so you can turn me in when we get rescued?” the tone in her voice changes and Victor winces a little bit.

    “Technically...yes. But I'm not that kinda cop.”

    She rolls her eyes, “No, of course not. You're the warm and fuzzy kind.”

    Victor smiles at that one. “I'm more concerned about your side of the story than I am about turning you in.”

    “You're lying. They always lie, every last one of them.”

    “Who? Men?” Victor stands to his feet and brushes off his soiled uniform.

    Bela exhales, “Everyone.”

    “If I wanted to detain you, I would have already.”

    “Oh?” she cocks a brow.

    “I could have easily pulled you down when you had your foot on me. I've got cuffs right here. It would be simple.” Victor taps his hand against the cuffs chained to his belt.

    “You know exactly what to say to a girl to make her hot,” Bela chortles and folds her arms over her chest.

    “I'm serious, Abby.”

    The sarcastic grin across Bela's face diminishes instantly and she resorts to a more cold, hard expression.

    “Do _not_ call me that.”

    “Listen, I'm not gonna tell anyone about you or what you've done. Just come back to the camp with me and...and I promise I'll keep you safe.”

    “So chivalry isn't dead then, how sweet.”

    Victor shakes his head. He's about had it with her. Letting out a long breath, he begins to head back. Bela watches him with narrow eyes.

    “The offer still stands either way,” Victor glances over his shoulder and flashes her a smile. She stares back and watches him as he goes.

 

**Four Months Ago**

**Some bass-heavy pop hit plays faintly in the background of a slightly crowded bar. Victor sits at the counter, leaning on his elbow. Beside him, a large, light-skinned man is chatting away. Both men have their police uniforms on. They just got off work.**

**“Man, Vic, you were right on top of it today. Taking out Mendez like that? After almost a whole year?” he raises his beer glass.**

**Victor smiles humbly and raises his drink as well. His partner clinks the glasses together and takes a nice long chug of the foamy beverage.**

**A woman approaches and sits down beside Victor. She has on a tight fitted, sequined dress that barely covers her knees. Victor clears his throat and eyes her up and down, not so much out of interest, but more from confusion.**

**“You here with someone?” she asks in a low, sultry voice.**

**He glances over at his partner who's busy drinking away and chatting the bartender's ear off.**

**“Nope.”**

**“Can I buy you a drink Officer...” she leans forward and reads the name on his badge, “V. Henriksen?”**

**Victor shifts a little in his bar stool, flustered suddenly by the question. He looks away from the woman's face and down at the flat counter-top.**

**“I'm uh married.”**

**The woman hums softly, “You're not wearing a ring.”**

**“Uh...” Victor stumbles, trying to hide his hand now that she's seen his bare fingers.**

**His partner leans over and grins, “He's lying.”**

**Victor looks up at the woman apologetically, “I'm sorry.”**

**She smiles, “Let me buy you a drink.”**

**“Listen,” he shakes his head. “I'm sure you're a great person, but I should really be leaving.”**

**Victor's partner overhears and leans over again. “What? We just got here.”**

**“Sorry, Al. I gotta head back to the station. There's some stuff I should work on before tomorrow.”**

**Al makes a face, “Vic, you just caught one of LA's most prominent criminals. You deserve a break.”**

**Victor stands up and pushes in his bar stool. He shrugs, “Not yet. I've gotta go.”**

**He places a ten on the counter and walks out of the bar.**

 

    Bobby and Dean have begun to tear useful pieces of metal from the plane's cabin. Inside the debris, the stagnant heat is humid and sticky. Bobby lifts his cap from his head and wipes some sweat away with the back of his hand.

    “Careful. Some of this stuff's a bit sharp,” Bobby cautions as Dean is about to run his palm over a jagged edge.

    “You really think there's enough here for everyone?”

    The older man shrugs his shoulders. “If we're efficient with it. And if people don't mind sharin', we should be right as rain.”

    Dean chuckles, “Right as rain, huh? We could use some rain, if you ask me.”

    Victor heads over, walking through the sand. “Need a hand?”

    Dean perks his head up and waves. “Glad you came by.”

    “We could use the extra man-power. Everyone else seems to have more important things to be doin'.” Bobby air-quotes and rolls his eyes sarcastically.

    “Well, I'm here to help,” Victor smiles and notices Dean trying to hoist a huge piece of square debris from the side of the plane. He goes to the other side and takes the piece of metal in his hands. They break it free from the loose bolts and carry it over to the small, but growing pile in the sand.

    As the guys continue to salvage what they can from the wreckage, Victor looks up and sees Jo rushing towards them, clearly unsettled about something. Him and Dean stop what they're doing as she approaches.

    “Hey, Jo,” Dean says cautiously.

    She stops in front of them and puts her hands on her hips, “We have a problem.”

    Victor cocks a brow. She has his attention too.

    “What's goin' on? Is everyone okay?” Dean steps forward.

    Jo shakes her head, “We're out of cereal.”

    Victor can't help but almost break out laughing; however, he stifles the urge and moves his hand across his face to hide the smile at his lips.

    “We're out of cereal,” Dean repeats.

    “Yeah,” Jo raises her voice. “We're out of cereal, peanut butter, granola bars, and all the food we had stashed.”

    Victor and Dean turn to each other with furrowed brows.

    “You're serious?”

    Jo scoffs emphatically, “Yeah, I'm serious. Either someone stole everything or...”

    “Or we're out of food,” Dean finishes her sentence and Jo nods in agreement.

    Victor holds his hands out in a calming manner, “This could get ugly really fast. I advise you to keep this just between the three of us and – ”

    Ash approaches behind Jo and leans against her jokingly. She shoves him off and scowls.

    “What's wrong?” he asks cautiously.

    Jo turns to him with a confrontational expression, “The food is gone. Did you eat it all?”

    Ash brings a hand to his chest, offended, “Me? Why would I eat all our food?”

    Victor steps in, shaking his head, “Listen, I'm sure Ash didn't eat all the food.”

    “Thanks, man...”

    “But we need to figure out what to do next. What's gonna be our plan of action,” Victor says.

    Andy comes to Ash's side and tips his head to the side, “Why does everyone look mad?”

    “Dude, the food's gone,”Ash answers.

    “Shit...what are we supposed to eat then?” Andy immediately bursts into a state of panic. Several others nearby overhear and raise their heads.

    “I don't know,” Victor tries to calm everyone down as best he can. “But we have to keep our cool. We can't panic.”

    “Are we gonna have to eat each other? Dude, are we gonna become cannibals?” Andy's freaking out now.

    Ash makes a face and glances at Jo, contemplating the possibility. She smacks him again and he chuckles.

    “No, we're not gonna have to eat each other. Let's just think about this for a moment.” Victor is getting agitated now.

    Bobby sets a huge piece of metal siding down in the pile with the others and joins the excitable group. He folds his arms over his chest and lifts a brow.

    “I told y'all we should ration the food supply, but no, ya idjits don't listen to me...” Bobby adds quietly off to the side.

    Kevin runs over to the group with Sam close behind.

    “We're eating people?” he seems far too enthused by this.

    Victor facepalms and groans.

 

    **The police station buzzes with excitement as calls come in steadily through the receptionists’ desks. Officers come and go from the various cells and cubicles.**

**Victor sits hunched over his desk, absently scratching the top of his bald head as he reads through some files. His partner, Al, walks in with a thick manila folder, papers sticking out of the sides. Victor looks up as he enters the office.**

**“Gotcha a new case, Vic,” Al plops the folder down on the desk and Victor's eyes widen as he notices it's so full, it has to be bound with a rubber band so the papers don't fall out.**

**“What's this?”**

**“A wanted fugitive. Robbery, Credit Card Fraud, Grand Theft Auto, Murder, the list goes on.”**

**Victor pulls the rubber band off the file and opens the first page. Inside is a black and white mugshot of Bela. The first line of her report reads, “Abigail Emerson.” Another line below that says, “Fugitive goes by a series of aliases listed below.” Victor runs his finger down the page as he reads. He's already immersed.**

**Al knocks his fist on Victor's desk, bringing him back to reality, “Hey, time to clock out.”**

**Victor looks down at his watch and his eyes widen, “Guess you're right.”**

**Al smiles, “Take that home with ya. It'll give ya something to read before bed.”**

**They laugh and Victor stands from his desk. He grabs his coat from the hook behind him, pulls it over his shoulders and tucks the heavy file against his chest.**

**“You leaving too?”**

**Al shakes his head, “I've gotta pick something up from the print room.”**

**“Want me to wait for you?”**

**“Nah, go ahead without me. I don't know how long it's gonna take. You know how slow those damn interns are.”**

**Victor chuckles and nods, “Alright, man. See you tomorrow.”**

**Al gives him a pat on the back as he leaves the office.**

**With Bela's file clutched close to himself as he makes his way out of the station, Victor waves goodnight to his fellow officers. As he comes to the door, a man runs directly into him, knocking hard into his shoulder.**

**“Watch out, buddy,” Victor calls out to the thin, grey haired man but he doesn't reply. He watches the man hurry through the station and doesn't recognize him. Shrugging his shoulders and turning away, Victor exits the station.**

   

    Victor gets down on one knee and shakes his head. Bobby takes a step and leans over him.

    “You alright?”

    He shakes his head and glances up at the older man. “I need my gun.”

    “Huh?”

    The rest of the castaways have begun to quarrel about the impending food situation.

    Victor stands to his feet. “I lost it during the crash. If I had it right now...”

    Bobby steps back, suddenly not feeling too great about this, “You'd what?”

    “We could go out into the jungle, find more of those boars, and then this food issue would be solved.”

    Bobby eases up. He looks over at the medical stash by his makeshift tent.

    “That's _your_ gun?”

    Victor's expression softens and he exhales with relief, “You've seen it?”

    “I got it over with my stuff. The kid found it.” Bobby gestures to Kevin, who's still far too interested in the idea of cannibalism.

    Victor's smiling now. He goes to the center of the boisterous crowd of survivors and raises his hands in the air.

    Bobby leaves to gather up whatever weapons he has stashed in his quarters.

    “Everyone, listen here. I can find you all some food.”

    The chatter dies down and now everyone's staring.

    “Okay...” Jo says with a bite to her tone. “How?”

    “Has anyone here ever been hunting?” Victor asks bluntly.

    No one responds at first; everyone just looks at Victor like he's speaking gibberish.

    “Come on, guys, we have to learn to fend for ourselves until the rescue team gets here.”

    Andy rolls his eyes, “ _If_ the rescue team gets here.”

    Ash nudges him and shakes his head, “Of course they're gonna get here. Don't talk like that.”

    In the midst of the chatter, Jo steps up out of the blue with a hand raised.

    “I can hunt.”

    Victor smiles, “Excellent.”

    Ellen glares from behind her. “You're not going in there alone.”

    Jo rolls her eyes but doesn't turn to look at her mother. “I'll be fine. I want to help.”

    Bobby returns with the handgun and some knives.

    “Thanks, man.” Victor takes the gun and smiles.

    Bobby hands Jo one of the knives and she scoffs, swapping it with a bigger one from the array he's laid out. “Anyone else?” he looks around at everyone.

    Sam and Dean glance at each other and shrug.

    “Your dad never showed you boys anything 'bout huntin'?” Bobby questions.

    Sam laughs derisively. “There's a lot of things we missed out on 'cause our dad was a bit too busy...”

    Dean glares at his younger brother. “I'm sure we can help anyway,” he answers for the two of them.

    A series of twigs snap from somewhere close by in the jungle.

    “Everyone, come here quick!”

    The castaways turn immediately towards the sound of Bela's voice from the edge of the woods.

    Victor perks up, “Bela?”

    Without any hesitation, he breaks into a sprint towards the sound of her voice.

   

    **The sound of keys clink as Victor unlocks his back door and pushes it open. The cold air outside causes the wood to expand and each day, it becomes more of a pain to open. He sets Bela's large file down on the little bit of counter space available in his crammed kitchen. His apartment is modest, for sure.**

**Stretching his arms behind his back and cracking the sore joints, Victor lets out a long sigh. He loosens the top button of his uniform and unbuckles his belt holster, setting it down on his coffee table, gun and all.**

**With a fresh beer from the fridge, Victor falls back onto his couch and kicks his feet up. Grabbing at the remote on the arm of the sofa, he clicks the TV on.**

**A news broadcast is the first thing that pops up. A reporter is standing outside a wrecked building, black smoke billowing from the windows and debris. Victor is about to turn the channel when he picks up on the words the reporter is actually saying.**

**“Just minutes ago, the LAPD South End branch was devastated from what seems to be a terrorist attack.”**

**Victor freezes in place. His jaw slowly drops as she continues to speak.**

**“This man – ,” a semi-blurry photo of the same thin grey-haired man from before comes up on the screen. “ – Is believed to be responsible for the attack. Investigations have only just begun, but it is certain that there are no survivors from within the station.”**

**Suddenly, Victor can barely feel his body. His limbs, hands, feet, none of it is a part of him. He begins to slide down the front of the couch, falling to the floor. When his knees hit the rug beneath him, a sour, hard pit in his stomach wrenches up his body. Victor bends over and vomits onto the floor, coughing and heaving until nothing's left within him.**

 

    “Hurry!” Bela calls from the jungle.

    Victor follows the sound of her voice, running past the jungle brush, stepping over fallen branches and mossy rocks in his way.

    The rest of the survivors are behind him, alert and trying to keep up.

    “What the hell's goin' on?” Ash has a hard time catching his breath as he tries to stay behind Jo and Ellen.

    Victor sees Bela through some thick trees. He waves his arms out to the sides.

    “Don't worry, Bela, I'm here to...” he stops at an open spot in the trees and cocks his head to the side once he sees the situation up close. “...help you.”

    Bela's standing there, perfectly fine, not a scratch on her. In the grass a couple feet away is a huge, wooden crate. The word, “FOOD” is stamped on the side in red paint. Part of the box is covered in a long black tarp.

    Victor goes forward and puts his gun away in its belt holster. He grabs the edge of the tarp with both hands and lifts it up and over. The black plastic covering falls to the ground to reveal a bomb stuck to the center of the crate and a clock counting down from five minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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